


Inamorata

by wreckofherheart



Series: the stars are afire [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: F/F, Older Woman/Younger Woman, yes this shit is happening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You sound like her, you know? She’s good at speaking confidently; good at fooling you. But, really, inside––she’s fragile. Insecure and scared. Thank God she had you to save the day.’ His smile broadens into something terrifying. ‘It’s a shame. You could have been brilliant if you weren’t wound up in your admiration.’</p><p>[Dawn/Cynthia ; Post-Platinum Storyline]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01

At the age of fifteen, you are given your first companion.

At the age of sixteen, a horrifying monster of a man named Cyrus accepts your first challenge.

At the age of seventeen, you face the Devil, Giratina, and capture it as your own.

At the age of eighteen, you approach a woman you have admired since you were only nine, and she accepts your challenge.

You lose. For two years, you redeem your mistakes.

At the age of twenty, you face her once more. And you become the youngest Pokemon Champion to date. 

Yet, after all of your heroics, the strain and torture of your adventures, you decide to disappear. Kanto is your home for a little over a year, and then Johto, and then you meet Red, and then you annihilate his companions and are eventually not just considered the youngest Pokemon Champion, but also the best. The most powerful.

 

 

There is an art to training a pocket monster. It is not about keeping pets, or training soldiers. Many professional trainers say to you that Pokemon are your friends, your _best_ friends, and so you must treat them as such. Raise them, love them, adore them. 

What they don’t mention is that Pokemon are very human, too. 

And they look up to their trainers not just as a master, or friend, but as a model as well. They learn _from_ you. Your behaviour, your nature, your impatience and passion to win. What professional trainers don’t mention is that those who start off young either quit young, or are trainers for so many years, they eventually start to deteriorate in themselves.

You forget who you are.

Which is okay. Red, the infamous trainer from Pallet Town, was brilliant too. And he, also, lost his own mind and preferred the company of nobody except his so-called “companions”. But then you meet him, and he sort of smiles, and immediately invites you to battle. 

If you did not win, then perhaps you wouldn’t have felt so concerned.

Red is neither shocked or angry when you defeat him. He just smiles again––almost sad––and walks away. You don’t see him again.

 

 

Team Galactic have crumbled to dust. 

You hear nothing from them for years, and, someday, you forget about them. You forget about Cyrus, how scary he seemed to you when you were only a teenager. You forget about his blind, ridiculously innocent grunts. You forget about his maddening lust for power, how desperate he was to have Giratina as his own. 

Then you caught it instead. One Master Ball; and it was yours.

You held Satan in your palm, and you realised, then and there, why Cyrus was the way he was.

Pokemon, training them, _capturing_ them––God, how _addictive_. How maddening, to possess that amount of control in your small, fragile hands. These Pokemon _obey_ you. They _love_ you, and you _love_ them, and it is all _perfect_ and so, so, so, _fucked_.

Your companions would _die_ for you.

You remember her, though; an odd, faint light in all the rush and pain Galactic threw at you. She wasn’t like the other trainers, who looked down at you with smug grins, seeing nothing but a mere little girl. They doubted your capabilities, and just _patronised_ you.

But her? She saw you, at least. Gave you a chance. 

You recall witnessing the great Sinnoh Champion on the television; stealing the headlines in the newspapers––how she was admired for her beauty, her strength, her intelligence. All girls wanted to be her, and all boys wanted her. That was how you understood it anyway. When you were young, and so excited to begin your training.

In reality, the Sinnoh Champion is terribly similar to you: starting off much too young, and racing all the way to the top, while everybody else dragged from behind. You defeated her at the age of twenty, and she accepted her defeat with _joy_. She was _happy_ to lose to you.

She _was_ beautiful, strong, intelligent; all things described. But she was patient too, almost taking you in as her own student. She taught you ways about Pokemon tournaments nobody had, or nobody knew about; taught you the most efficient ways to train your Pokemon. And she taught you what training is really all about. It’s not how it’s described in text books, in schools, by celebrities. Training Pokemon, it’s all about knowing _yourself_ ; what _you_ are.

With your Pokemon beside you, you age and evolve as well.

Sometimes for the worst.

That is what happened to Cyrus. He was brilliant, once. He was amazing, once.

But the addiction of Pokemon, all of that power, the glory of becoming _mighty_ , eventually killed his soul.

When you were young and too naive, you asked her what that meant: were you to become like Cyrus as well? If you didn’t slow down, would you, too, become monstrous?

 

 

At the age of twenty four, your Pokemon have reached an extraordinary level. You are virtually indestructible, and no trainer with sense wishes to challenge you.

Most of your days, you spend time training, or researching. The creation of Sinnoh, of the world even, has caught your interest. Was there a Pokemon who designed this land? Was there a Pokemon who birthed mankind and Pokemon alike? Is fate, morality, everything finite––does it all depend on a Pokemon nobody has ever been able to capture or even _comprehend_?

Is there a transcendent Pokemon? One not like Giratina, but one far more powerful.

 

 

‘There is nothing more saddening than ignorance.’ 

Bags under his eyes. Tired face. He is only thirty-five, and yet he might as well have been alive for centuries. You no longer recognise him. This man is not the man you faced when you were only seventeen, young and sweet, and corruption’s deadly prey. 

Now you witness loss. This is what you have done to him.

He sits across from you, exhausted and ill, but he still holds himself with a sense of righteousness. You almost expect him to jump up and challenge you to a match, and this will surely be one to the death, but he is a lost man.

He has nothing left to lose.

‘I hated you.’

Cyrus scrunches his eyes shut, and you don’t say a word. Perhaps out of boredom, perhaps out of shock, perhaps out of pity. But you watch him, expression gentle, and, for the first time, you actually _do_ feel sympathy for this beast.

Even after his crimes, you _sympathise_. 

‘I was a man who did not believe in emotions; they were the very obstacle which held me back. I wasa man. A _great_ man. Powerful. Uncontrollable. Nobody could defeat me. My Pokemon, _me_ ––we were to be Gods, and you––’

He stops. 

‘You.’ He laughs. He laughs, and it is a pained laugh. ‘You made me _hate_ you. But you were young back then; too ignorant to comprehend what my mission was. But what about now? Now you know the glory of Pokemon, what they can _do_. You still believe that all Pokemon are _friends_? That they should be treated as anything less? Don’t you see? Don’t you see how I was _right_?’

It has been years.

You have learnt so much since.

But although you and he share similarities, you are _not_ him. 

‘I see nothing in you.’

He looks up, shocked you answered. A scowl curls his lips. ‘Nothing? You see nothing? Ha! Is that really a way to treat your once-enemy? Whatever happened to _pity_? I thought you _weak_ people were familiar with that sensation.’

‘We are, but we only share it with those deserve the emotion.’

‘Hm.’ Cyrus cocks back his chin. An ugly smile. ‘You sound like her, you know? She’s good at speaking confidently; good at fooling you. But, really, inside––she’s fragile. Insecure and scared. Thank God she had you to save the day.’ His smile broadens into something terrifying. ‘It’s a shame. You could have been brilliant if you weren’t wound up in your admiration.’

You can’t respond.

… because you think he isn’t wrong.

‘I admired her too. A long time ago.’ Cyrus watches you closely now. ‘And then I knew better. You can’t admire another person. Too busy trying to be somebody, you never have time to be yourself. You’re a sad picture.’

Suddenly he stands. Shoulders strong, back straight; ready.

‘If you’re wondering, I don’t feel hate for you anymore.’ He shoves the chair aside, and proceeds his way out. ‘No, _hate_ isn’t the emotion now.’

 

 

There are three types of trainers: a) the researcher b) the player and c) the teacher.

Both a) and b) are considered neutral. The researcher is that of the professors, or your friend, Lucas. b) the player––they are those who fight for fun, they catch Pokemon for the joy of it. They are Pokemon trainers because it is their hobby. Your friend, Barry, fits the type. And then there are the teachers. Teachers are another category altogether.

Teachers are trainers for their Pokemon _only_. They don’t do it for themselves necessarily. They capture an _army_ of Pokemon, and teach them how to be great. It is not about entering contests, or achieving ribbons, or sticking your head in a book, or discovering what amazing pocket monsters lie out there. A teacher sticks with their own party, trains _only_ them, and keeps on training them until they can be trained no more.

By that time, the teacher is old and grey, and lived their life.

It is a compulsion. 

A habit.

You aren’t really a trainer anymore, but a teacher. Potential trainers and even the most experienced turn to you in search of wisdom.

Thing is, teachers don’t have that much advice, and, if they do, they’re rarely willing to share it.

 

 

**Sinnoh’s Lost Champion Returns Home.**

The headlines break through, and you are famous again. Your mother scolds you, then cuddles you, and cries, and you cry a little with her. You have missed her warmth, her kindness–– _so much_. But it doesn’t take long for the paparazzi to hit your doors. 

Privacy is a privilege and you have no privilege. 

Only a day later, there are rumours of a few fanatic Galactics on the loose. 

Sinnoh turn to you for help. 

You doubt Cyrus is behind this and, sure enough, he isn’t. The fanatics once worked under him, but after his shamed resignation, they decided to continue his mission. To capture all Pokemon, even those who guard this planet, and create something ungodly.

They want to splice Pokemon, and create one of their own.

It is sick, and your party endure your anger and frustration, so they fight with you. 

Barry wants to come with you, but you somehow convince him his companionship is very much ill advised. You’re not certain what these fanatics are like; if they _are_ another Cyrus, or just idiotic grunts up to no good. 

They have travelled far up north, where the snow bites, and the chill murders.

Your Infernape keeps you warm at night. Its long, flaming arms your only source of heat, and it carefully huddles you up close. 

By morning, you are already awake, and near where these fanatics have set up their lab.

It is cold; much too cold. You’re shivering, and your toes sting, and your fingers are numb, and your body is aching.Your Pokeballs are safely stored away in the warmth of your jacket. Your Pokemon’s safety is a bigger concern than your own. 

Eventually, you come across the lab. Securely hidden beneath the snow. It will take a little bit of digging from your Pokemon to reach the door. Grabbing a Pokeball, you release your Garchomp, who immediately does what you require. Its claws are large and strong, and they lift away snow effortlessly. Within seconds, the door is seen and you return Garchomp to its Pokeball.

Inside, it is warmer. You lower your hood, and breathe out in relief. 

 

 

The place is rundown, but the walls are thick enough to keep out the cold. Wisely, you release Infernape, and allow it to walk behind you, watching your back. If there is the slightest noise, it will alert you at once, and come to your defence.

Its feet pad softly against the hard floor, and its flames are vicious and gorgeous in the lack of light. It not only acts as a radiator and a weapon but also a torch.

The odd Pokemon scuttles by, but they are not a threat.

Anyway, it is too cold for many Pokemon to survive here.

For a while, you are convinced the lab has been deserted, and you’re about to turn back, when you and Infernape hear something.

_Tap_.

A Pokeball hits the floor at your feet.

Then it bursts open.

Red light illuminates the room, and there is a shake when the Pokemon escapes its confinement. 

What you see is not a Pokemon though.

Infernape growls and start to _yap_ at the creature, but you raise your hand at it slightly. Infernape reluctantly stops making such a noise, and waits for your next order. 

The creature is large, the size of a big dog, with a massive jaw, and sharp teeth. Like daggers. Its hair is long, and eyes are huge; it appears similar to that of a Houndoom, but it’s hairier, far more muscly, and you have a hunch this thing has more than one Type. 

You reach for your Pokedex. 

Infernape _yaps_ again, jumping over your shoulder and blocking this creature from attacking you. But, strangely, it has stayed in one place, glaring.

The Pokedex does not recognise this thing.

‘Wonderful, is it not?’

You look up.

A woman leans over a rail a few floors up. You can barely figure out her features, but she seems young. Short, black hair and a thin frame. You identity a few Pokeballs strapped to her waist. 

‘The mother gave birth just this morning.’

The mother…?

You frown. And the woman grins. ‘That’s right. We have a family of these lovely gems. Want to know how? Well, there would be no greater honour than inviting the brilliant Sinnoh Champion to witness my gorgeous experiments.’ She turns and walks down the steps. ‘I was hoping it would be _you_ who arrived, otherwise there would have been some unfortunate consequences for anybody else.’

She reaches you, and now you can see her properly. She _is_ young, almost your age. Glasses perched on her nose, wearing faint, red lipstick. You don’t recognise her, though. 

‘I’m Professor Grey. I used to work for Professor Oak, but due to a change in personal circumstances, I resigned and decided to conduct my own research.’ She cocks a brow. ‘Not done so bad, either.’

You glance at the creature, who has calmed down slightly.

Then to Infernape. It is still very agitated. You click your fingers, and it obediently rushes to your side. Yet continues to growl.

‘You are a quiet one.’ Grey smiles. ‘So: how about it? Come see my lab.’ She gestures up the staircase whence she came from, and waits expectantly. 

It is a simple invitation, and after sharing one look with Infernape, you accept.

 

 

The experiments are quite like Cyrus’s. The only difference is that these ones have been successful, and kept hidden. 

Until now.

For the moment, each specimen safely floats in a jelly-like substance, surrounded by its glass tube. Although you feel disgusted and even disturbed by the situation, the professor is clearly excited and completely oblivious to the horrors she has birthed.

A colleague passes, and you recognise his face, as he does yours.

He was one of the grunts you battled on Mount Coronet. He scowls at you and hurries away. Professor Grey opens her arms out. ‘Well? What do you think? Marvellous, yes?’

You hear Infernape growling and turn to see what the problem is. That hybrid has followed you, and is currently watching you closely. It’s almost unnerving, but you’re accustomed to Pokemon preying on you. Not that this is anything _like_ a pocket monster.

Infernape is not happy and slams his fist impatiently.

‘Your Pokemon has awful manners.’ You flash a glare at the professor, who chortles. ‘I’m joking! The last thing I want is for the famous prodigy to get mad at me. I heard about what you did to Cyrus and Team Galactic. Pulverised them all without a strain. Cyrus always seemed so calm and empty until you came along. It’s unbelievable. I tried so hard to grab his attention, and there you are, with your pretty face and contradictory appearance, and he can’t think of anything other than you.’

Many have commented on your “sweet” appearance, and how it doesn’t fit your strength in battle. But with this woman, it’s not admiration; it’s envy.

‘Never mind. Cyrus ended before he began. I have created something better. You have already observed the beauty of my first creation. Be prepared for more. These Pokemon will outwit any human being. Hell, one day I may even splice a little human DNA with a Pokemon’s. Imagine.’

‘You’re playing God.’

‘So? When I have the technology and all the research I need, I might as well try being Him.’ She cocks a brow when you reach for a Pokeball. ‘Oh. Does it really have to come to that? I would rather we discussed this over like adults.’

‘The last time I tried that one of the most dangerous Pokemon was awoken from its slumber.’ Infernape tenses when you retrieve your Pokeball. ‘The world was nearly erased from his foolish actions, and I don’t intend for that to happen again.’

‘You think this is about destroying the world?’

‘I think this is about control. Having everything in your hands. And I know this only ends badly.’

Professor Grey snatches a Pokeball. ‘Your Pokemon are weak against mine. I hope you realise this before treading further.’

‘That is just what he said, too. I don’t believe in empty threats.’

She smiles crookedly. ‘Fine.’ The professor throws her Pokeball between you and she, and it explodes. Red light shines the room, and out from it appears––

‘I thought we were fighting with _Pokemon_.’

‘Oh, no. We never said that. Also, who’s to say this isn’t a Pokemon? Just a Pokemon with mixed genes, I guess.’

You frown at her for patronising you.

This creature is like the one behind: it is not a Pokemon. It shares some qualities as your Infernape, but also a Raichu and you even entertain the possibility there is some Zubat in all of that mess. It flaps its wings several metres above you, its electric tail and strong body dangerous and intimidating. 

Infernape crawls over to your feet, watching the thing like a hawk.

‘What moves does it know?’

‘You’ll find out.’

Holding your breath, you unleash your own Pokemon.

Luxray is released and it immediately knows your order. A bolt of electricity shoots from its body, and reaches towards the spliced Pokemon. It hits. The electricity causes the creature to jolt and nearly collapse entirely––needless to say, great damage has been done.

Professor Grey snaps her fingers.

The creature zooms down, grabs Luxray and throws it across the room.

You widen your eyes in terror and watch as your Pokemon slams into the wall and is knocked unconscious. Infernape _yaps_ furiously, and you’re close to losing your temper yourself. That was unfair. Concerned for your Luxray, you nearly run over to make sure its okay, but the spliced Pokemon blocks your path. Infernape jumps onto your shoulder and digs its teeth into the creature’s body.

‘Flame Wheel!’

Infernape bounces back, and produces a hot wheel of fire from its paws. It collides straight into the spliced creature, but it is seemingly unaffected. 

‘Rip it apart.’

You gasp, snatch your Pokeball and return Infernape before the creature can do anything. 

‘Ah-ha! You coward!’

‘This is not a fair battle. I forfeit.’

Grey raises her brows. ‘Oh? You think that’s all it takes? I don’t take “no” for an answer.’ She looks at her “Pokemon”. ‘Rip the girl apart instead.’

At first, you don’t believe her, but sure enough the spliced creature comes at you. You take a step back, ready to retrieve another Pokeball, when a blast of fire swallows the creature whole. Flames tinge your skin slightly and you fall back from the impact.

You hear a roar; frightening, shaking the entire lab.

‘That is no way to treat a lady.’

Professor Grey yells out when her creature collapses, burnt and unconscious. She runs over, kneels down and pulls it close to her. ‘You mad woman! Look what you’ve done!’

A Garchomp, large and almost the picture of a nightmare, proceeds over to where you lay. You scramble to your feet, and recognise its trainer. After all this time, Cynthia hasn’t changed in appearance whatsoever, and, for a second, you wonder if she might not even recognise who _you_ are.

However she’s not the type. Ignoring the professor, she hurries over to you, ‘Are you all right? It didn’t hurt you, did it?’

‘No,’ you reply. 

Cynthia turns back to the professor, and hardens her tone. ‘Professor Oak stripped you from your title as professor a year ago. And you are currently handling property which does not belong to you. Might I also mention the illegal abuse of Pokemon here?’

‘You brought her with you?’ Professor Grey glares at you, and then lets out a cruel laugh. ‘God, you are predictable!’

Before you open your mouth to speak, Cynthia cuts through: ‘Actually, she did not. I heard about your shenanigans and decided to see things for myself. So far, I am unimpressed.’

You twitch a smile. You’ve always enjoyed Cynthia’s dry sarcasm. 

‘When you’ve quite finished grieving over your _animal_ , you are to come with me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere with the likes of you. You call yourself a Pokemon Champion and yet you got pummelled by a little girl.’

‘Little girl? Not exactly. Furthermore, I took that defeat quite happily.’

The professor sniggers. ‘Yeah, right. Student becomes the Master, eh?’

‘Tsk.’ In response to her irritation, Cynthia’s Garchomp makes an unsettling growl. 

‘You can try and scare me with your dragon, but I’m not following you anywhere.’ The professor stands, and turns to the spliced creature from before. Retrieving her Pokeball, she returns it. ‘You might have discovered my base, but this is only _one_. Perhaps you should allow the police to deal with me, rather than yourself. They might do a more decent job.’

‘Why run? I have the doors barred.’

‘Uh-Huh.’ The professor releases another Pokemon. You raise your brows to find its just an Abra. It sits there, expressionless and apparently dozing. ‘Why would I need doors when I have Pokemon?’ You realise what she’s about to do, but before you can stop her, the Abra opens its eyes, and suddenly both it and the professor are gone.

Teleport. How did you not see that coming?

‘I’m very well aquatinted with this woman,’ Cynthia says, ‘She can get away, but only for now. At least we have physical evidence of her motives.’ She gestures to the Pokemon stuck in their tubes. ‘This place is wrong; I’m glad we sought it out when we did.’

Although you’re annoyed the mad professor fled, you decide to adopt Cynthia’s level-headedness. ’How did you know I was here?’

‘I didn’t necessarily. I heard about the professor, and had a pretty good hunch you had gone to search for her as well.’ Cynthia smiles. ‘It was lovely to hear about your return. I intended to visit, but…’ She blinks, and shakes her head. ‘Never mind about that. If you’ll excuse me, Dawn, I need to contact a few officers waiting for my message. They will be able to investigate this place better than you or I.’ She takes out her Poketch. ‘A medical officer will be arriving shortly. Your Luxray shall be treated to full health very soon.’

 

 

The Pokemon Centre at Snowpoint City is warm, and cosy. It is late, and the nurse kindly asks if you might require a room, but you decline. Your Luxray has not yet returned, but you have been told it shall be healed no time. Fortunately its injuries are not too severe. Assured, you decide to wait in the cafe until you can go and see it.

You expected Cynthia to hurry off elsewhere, but you’re mildly surprised when you see her enter the Pokemon Centre. It may have been over four years, yet there isn’t a single line on her face to reveal her age. But, really, she’s only thirty-two.

‘I understand your Luxray is still being treated,’ she says.

You nod. Talking about your Pokemon’s health has never been an enjoyment. In fact, you find it all depressing. When you have to wait for your Pokemon to heal, it is that which crashes reality back into you. Because you remember that Pokemon are mortal creatures as well. They feel too, they love too; they endure pain and suffering.

‘I overestimated.’

Cynthia frowns, and sits opposite. ‘Overestimated?’

‘How strong my Pokemon are. For years, I haven’t lost and then suddenly––’

‘That happens.’ You blink, and raise a brow. ‘I, too, overestimate. I did with you.’

You smile. ‘That was different. You had every reason to doubt me.’

‘Doubt you?’ Her grey eyes brighten, and she actually finds your statement amusing. ‘Never! Ever since I first met you when you were so young, I believed in you. I was very proud when you successfully achieved my rank as Champion. I may have overestimated my own Pokemon’s abilities, but I certainly never doubted you or _yours_.’

It is like warmth, her kindness. Her enthusiasm for you.

It has been a while.

You find yourself having missed her. Severely.

‘I have to go. I’m sure you can sort yourself out.’

It hurts––kind of. That she would leave so quickly, but you don’t say anything, and pretend to act nonchalant. Cynthia smiles shortly, almost expecting a response, however she’s not the type to linger and wait. 

Back when you were a teenager, she would have probably stayed with you all night, just to make sure your Luxray was healthy; just to make sure _you_ were healthy. But now? Now there’s this independence which you have crafted for yourself. The type of independence many find intimidating. 

She isn’t intimidated by you; you know that much.

But you are older and, in a way, she is younger. You outmatch her skill, and perhaps Grey was correct: the student _does_ become the master. You once learned off this woman, she once taught you everything you needed to know, and now it’s as if all of her lessons, her techniques, everything she knows has run down to ash.

It’s sad, that such a figure in your life could be so dismantled.

You nearly miss Cyrus. Because, at least when he was around, Cynthia stayed close.

 


	2. 02

After Professor Grey's disappearance, you hear nothing on her for the next couple of weeks. Instead, Professor Rowan earns your attention, asking you how your Pokedex is coming along; any pocket monsters you have yet to see. This isn’t necessarily your area of expertise, but, regardless, he is impressed and asks to borrow your Pokedex for research.

You ask him about hybrids, and he laughs at you. ‘Impossible.’ But there’s this uncertainty in his tone, and you decide to not delve further into the matter. 

‘Once, Cyrus was a student of his,’ Lucas says that afternoon. ‘Rowan told me how he was before he became the head of Team Galactic. He was ambitious, and passionate, and all of those things, but Rowan always felt there was something _off_.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He asked weird questions. Regarding Pokemon. Like, is it possible to splice two Pokemon together? What would happen if science reached that potential? And if hybrids were created, then are they capable of being caught? Or even _trained_. Rowan dismissed those questions because he thought it was an impossible achievement.’

A small smile reaches your features.

No wonder Rowan rejected your curiosity. Still, knowing that Cyrus had thought about it for so long, you entertain why he gave up so easily. Just because of you, he dropped everything and walked away. 

The Distortion World certainly made its impact on you. Perhaps that place made more of an influence on Cyrus; perhaps it all became a bit too much. He is human, after all. The very idea of creating an invincible, perfect Pokemon is beyond him or anybody for that matter. But he was convinced of his own power.

To walk away?

‘Everybody is talking about you; your adventures in Kanto, Johto––where _haven’t_ you been?’

You don’t answer. Instead, you smile at him again. It’s funny that people focus on the _glory_ of your so-called adventures, because when you look back, there is nothing particularly glorious about it. 

Sometimes, the idea of becoming a trainer, and a great one at that, is a romantic one.

 

 

Canalave library is the only source of information you have which is _willing_ to share its knowledge. Professor Rowan is clearly disturbed by the young Cyrus, and wishes not to discuss him, or his ideas. Cyrus, himself, is a ghost now. It was bizarre that when you didn’t need him, he was _always there_. Now that you are older, and have questions, he is invisible; as if he were fictional all along.

Throughout the day, your head is stuck in multiple books. Unfortunately, not many focus on splicing Pokemon DNA. Nor are there mentions of any successful hybrids: mutilated Pokemon, created for the purpose of humanity. Are you researching into a subject which is beyond the human mind?

You have always been a curious girl, though. If you weren’t, then you wouldn’t have _willingly_ walked into Hell; you wouldn’t have _willingly_ challenged the most dangerous man on earth. You wouldn’t have _willingly_ stepped up to your teacher, and asked her to battle against you; hang her respect for you on a loose thread.

You wouldn’t have won, either.

Wouldn’t have survived.

It is sundown. You are still seated at the same table, thick and thin books piled beside you and on the floor. A librarian walks up the staircase to meet you, and he asks if you’re all right; have you found what you’re searching for?

You nod, but say nothing.

Eventually, you are exhausted and can barely keep your eyes open. The vast amount of information you’ve read hurts your head, and you’re dehydrated and knackered. Perhaps this _is_ beyond you; perhaps it is time to back away.

‘I moved into here once.’

You look up, surprised.

It is uncertain how long for, but Cynthia has been watching you from the top of the staircase. There is a fondness in her eyes as she walks over to meet you. ‘Well, not _moved in_ exactly, but it felt that way.’ She smiles––tender. ‘Dawn, have you ever heard of the concept of _taking a break_? It might do you good.’

Exhaling, you abandon the book you’re reading. ‘I can’t find anything. Nothing on what Professor Grey is trying to achieve. I am either looking in the wrong sections, or there is simply _nothing_ written about her theories.’

‘Could be that,’ Cynthia nods. ‘Could be that those books, that kind of research, is almost sinful to the eyes of many.’ She takes a seat beside you, and places a hand on your shoulder. It is comforting; reassuring. ‘If you’re searching for the forbidden, then try somewhere less transparent.’ 

You frown. ‘Where would I look?’

A grin. ‘You’re looking at her right now. I dedicated half of my life to this kind of research. That, as well as the Sinnoh myths.’

‘Do you believe in them?’

Cynthia’s hand slips from your shoulder––her warmth erased by a snapping chill. It has an immediate effect on your body. She looks down at one of the books on the table, and idly flicks a page over. 

‘That depends which myth we’re talking about here. I would be _foolish_ to spend so long on a subject I did not, at least, _consider_ the possibility of being true. Perhaps it is because I am an academic, but to say I _believe_ without thinking it through first––I can’t do that. So, I can’t answer your question.’

You blink. Never has Cynthia _not_ had an answer for you; in fact, it has always been the contrary. 

Then you smile. It is almost endearing, her confusion. ‘That’s okay.’

‘And you?’

You’re a bit thrown by her question. Do you believe in the multiple myths of Sinnoh? Those of the Lakes? Of Veilstone? The myth of Mespirit? You have witnessed the ancient Pokemon yourself, been lifted by its heavenly aura, but the story which lies behind it, the beautiful poetry dedicated to this creature––

––maybe you are an academic too. All you can do is stand back, and observe; but never have an answer of your own.

Truth is, though, you’ve never really thought about it.

Pokemon, to you, have been not about the myths, but their power, their history; what they can do for their masters. 

You drop your gaze. 

‘Did you know about Cyrus––before?’

Cynthia tenses. You don’t look at her. Allow the query to sink in. A part of you expects her to walk away, but Cynthia isn’t a coward; she has faced many monsters in her life, _including_ Cyrus, and so, of course, she gives you an answer.

‘I did.’

‘What was he like?’

Now you look at her, and her grey eyes have widened slightly. In a vague attempt to lighten the mood, she chuckles, ‘Dawn, I never knew you for the _forward_ type.’ You wait patiently. ‘Yes, I knew Cyrus, before Team Galactic. In a way, he was quite like my rival, but our relationship was always complex.’

‘How so?’

‘Between you and your friend, Barry, I’ve always felt a sense of respect.’ You nod in agreement. ‘Cyrus was a… _jealous_ boy. I was always one step ahead of him, which he took personally. I suppose that is to be expected between two rivals, but when I became the youngest, and first _female_ Champion in all of Sinnoh––’ she smiles; it’s a reflection of Red’s when you defeated him. Sad. Troubled. Hopeless. ‘––Suffice to say, he became so wound up in his desire to beat me, he eventually gave up trying.’

‘Jealous?’

‘Jealous. I know that must be hard to believe, considering how _you_ knew him––’

‘No. I believe it.’

Cynthia softens her expression. There’s a moment. A small fracture of a second when it’s just the two of you, and it’s a strange niceness. Comforting. Then she pulls from your gaze. 

‘When I first met you, you were already one step ahead of your friend, regardless if he gained his second badge before you.’ She shrugs. ‘It’s not necessarily about the gym badges; it’s how your Pokemon see you, and how you see them. Yes: you were very advanced.’

Your heart flutters. You think because you’re flattered. But you’re not really sure. 

‘I know why Cyrus became so obsessed in trying to rid of you. From the start, you were a threat to him. When I observed your power, I decided to take a step back; I felt you could deal with him better than I, and I was right.’

‘You helped me.’

‘I gave you the odd lesson, but it was all you. Training is an isolating business––I know that. They say only lonely people become the best trainers. Perhaps there’s some truth to that after all.’

Craning your head to the right, you study her; not much that different from you, not that much different from Cyrus, or Barry even––but still a trainer of her own. A relatable one. Who started off in the poor village of Celestic, and achieved so much brilliance within just a few years. Who became more powerful than any trainer. It just went to show that social class, wealth, intelligence––it means nothing at the end of the day.

Maybe that’s why you liked her. Why you listened to her first before anybody else. When she spoke about Pokemon, you understood; it wasn’t like with Barry, who was so energetic and impulsive, you were incapable to keep up with his theories. Nor was it like that with Professor Rowan: too traditional in his, too outdated to work anymore.

Cynthia didn’t focus on _battle_ , but on _feeling_. 

A Pokemon cannot understand you, cannot fight for you, if neither of you share _feeling_. A respect, a love, that only two creatures may share in due time. And, for the record, the Pokemon doesn’t fight _for_ you anyway. The Pokemon fights _with_ you.

When you’re Pokemon is hurt, you, too, are hurt.

You and your Pokemon share the same soul, the same heart; ignore this fact, then you cannot become a trainer.

‘Anyway. Enough about Cyrus. Or me, for that matter. Please, tell me what you have discovered so far. I would like to help.’

 

 

When The Distortion World faded away, you could think of nothing else.

Your dreams were filled with that vast emptiness; that heavy gravitational pull; how all logic was erased in that tiny, yet huge planet of barrenness. You woke up, sweating and panting, the image of Giratina and its hideous body, planted in your mind. And each time, you would check your PC; make sure it’s still in there––hidden.

A secret. One which has disturbed you ever since you held that beast in your palm.

You are in possession of Satan, and you have not recovered since.

The moment you caught Giratina, you were no longer a _trainer_ , no longer a _child_. You became an adult, a Master of Pokemon. And the only person who witnessed the event was Cynthia, who simply stood back; let you decide on your own path.

She didn’t say a word afterwards.

There was no disapproval or pride when she escorted you away from Mount Coronet. There was nothing in her face; her eyes had become as bleak as The Distortion World itself, and you never understood why.

Now you do.

If you were Cynthia, you would have allowed Giratina to run free. Given it the liberty of isolation; let it live; control the galaxy as it had done for centuries.

If you were Cyrus, you would have caught Giratina. Made it your own. _Possessed_ it. 

You were Cyrus in that moment, when you held Giratina in your trembling hands. Hungry for its wisdom and power; you became corrupt.

The girl Cynthia met all those years ago, innocent, quiet and so determined, had vanished completely for a few minutes.

And that must have been terrifying.

To watch another Cyrus evolve before her.

 

 

_… and it still claws at your mind._

 

 

‘Dawn? Dawn!’

You scream. It is a sound you have never heard before; you wail out; _plead_ into the air, and a hand grabs your arm. Something strong, and yet _so_ gentle, holds you still, and you blink frantically, gasping. 

The sun is rising.

And you were dreaming. Dreaming about the vast openness of The Distortion World, and you were flying, happy and _alive_ and **_free_**. Suddenly the fate of the world no longer rested on your shoulders and you have _never_ felt such a joy. 

But its face appeared.

Ugly and beautiful.

You feel her presence, her hands on your trembling body, and find her eyes. The panic has subsided, and Cynthia’s face has become soft; sympathetic. ‘You had fallen asleep, so I decided to leave you be.’

Puzzled, you look around.

Notes and books are scattered across the floor. And you remember: you and Cynthia were researching on Professor Grey’s theories, and you can’t recall if you had got anywhere, but the data Cynthia provided you certainly drew you closer to wherever Grey is, and whatever plans she may have next.

Then you fell asleep.

‘What was wrong?’

She is still watching you; still holding you.

’N–Nothing.’ You inhale. Try a smile, but Cynthia’s expression doesn’t change. ‘A dream. That’s all.’

Cynthia squeezes your arm.

Then releases you.

She stands and returns to her original place. ‘I discovered letters sent between Professor Oak and Professor Grey; you might find them of interest.’ She looks to you, holds your gaze for a moment, then resumes her work. ‘I left them at your side.’

You reach for them. Desperate to forget about the dream, you hurriedly flick through the letters. Although not much is revealed, you do discover mention of Professor Grey’s plans. She speaks highly of Cyrus, but admits that he is weak; he cannot continue his work, and so she must take his place.

She asks if Professor Oak will join her. Asks him to imagine the millions they would make.

‘Dawn…?’

‘Hm?’

You mistakenly look up at Cynthia. Her expression is concerned; your pulse races. 

‘How do you feel?’

‘Fine. I always feel fine.’

Cynthia is still, then she takes a Pokeball from her hip. 

You’re taken by surprise when she throws the Pokeball near where you’re seated. Out from it explodes her Togekiss, which gleefully flaps its wings, and circles around you, releasing a happy, cooing noise.

In a matter of seconds, you feel better. Lighter. 

Freer. 

The terror has disentangled your mind, and everything is okay again.

The Togekiss must have sensed your better state, because it obediently returns to Cynthia, and perches itself at the corner of her desk.

‘What was that?’

Not looking up from her notes, Cynthia replies, ‘Nothing particularly. A Togekiss is a very happy Pokemon, and enjoys to share its joy.’ She smiles faintly. ‘You looked like you needed a bit of happiness for once.’

You wrap your arms around yourself, and look away.

‘How long for?’

The nightmares. How long have you suffered them.

‘Since The Distortion World.’

Cynthia sighs. You hear her placing her notes down.

‘I’m okay. The dreams are less regular now.’

‘Mm.’

You both fall into silence, which you prefer. You’re not keen on discussing your mentality, especially to Cynthia. You’re not even sure if she would understand. How you feel, what you’re going through, _what you went through_ ––

‘I am sorry.’

At first, you think your hearing is off, but you’re certain you heard Cynthia correctly.

‘What about?’

‘I saw too much in you.’ Cynthia leans back in her chair, and rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm. ‘I should have gone ahead alone. But I forced you to come with me.’

Realising what she is implying, you jump to your feet. ‘I wanted to come with you. I had gone so far, I couldn’t allow Cyrus to get away––’

‘You misunderstand. From the beginning, I almost _ensured_ you would save Sinnoh; save the world even. I forced all of that responsibility on your tiny shoulders, and never considered the consequences.’

Immediately, you reject her words, but she interjects before you’re allowed to speak––

‘I was scared to go alone. I couldn’t do it without you.’

You’re stumped.

‘I was selfish, and let you go through something when you were far too young.’

Too young.

Oh.

Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, and you’re quiet for a while. Too young to endure pain, too young to witness horror; too young to be somebody’s comfort through a troubling, if not fatal, moment in their life. 

Is that how she sees you?

Too young?

‘You gave me a choice,’ you start, voice tight. ‘Before we entered The Distortion World together, you turned to me and _asked_ if I would come with you. You didn’t push me into the portal; you didn’t drag me anywhere. You gave me a choice.’

_And I chose you._

Each time.

It was her you chose. It was her side you chose to fight for; it was her _beliefs_ you chose to fight for. 

It was her or Cyrus, two brilliant masters. One could give you the world, the other could only give you trauma. Perhaps a life your own.

But you still chose her.

Cynthia stares at you, bewildered. 

You look away.

It was _you_ who faced Giratina, _you_ who pulled Cyrus aside and challenged him for the last time.

You became a heroine, only known to two people in the entire world. 

You saved the world, and only two people watched.

Cynthia observed the most changing period in your life; watched you evolve. She was there, the whole time, and it causes a shudder up your spine.

It is almost intimate. She knows you better than anybody.

On cue, Togekiss leaps up from the desk, and joyfully swirls around you, before landing delicately on your shoulder.

Its happiness is strong, and pretty; and _light_. 

So much like its trainer. 

‘I chose to go with you. Please don’t invalidate me in that way. I may have been young, but I wasn’t gullible.’

You defeat her, but this not in a match. 

She drops her gaze to the desk. And she’s suddenly youthful; fragile. 

‘I understand.’

There is a sudden urge to hold her, like she held you, but you stay where you are. It isn’t easy, it isn’t as simple, to simply go over and cuddle away the nightmare. So you don’t do that; you don’t try.

‘Let us finish looking through these notes, then.’

It’s good enough.

You nod, and Togekiss jumps off your shoulder, returning to its trainer.

 


	3. 03

One letter, written nearly over a year ago, offers you a vague clue. Before you came along, Veilstone City was where Team Galactic Headquarters was positioned, and it wasn’t exactly the most subtle of buildings. Nearby is a temporary base; the doors are sealed and there is no way in without a passcode. 

Temporary or not, Professor Grey expresses slight interest in one of her letters to Oak. Maybe heading there, at least to check, wouldn’t cause any harm. You don’t inform Cynthia about your plans, preferring your own company. That is how you’ve always done it, and you don’t intend to change your work ethic. 

Veilstone is homely at night. You enjoy how the streetlamps make the city glow, how the stars appear that much more brighter. The Galactic Headquarters has been refurbished into another building; it has another use. Something to do with electricity, but, needless to say, Galactic have crumbled into dust.

To your relief, the base remains.

Yet as you reach for the door, you’re disgruntled to discover it is locked.

Damn it.

Initially, you decide to think of another plan, but consider something more _practical_. After releasing Infernape from its Pokeball, you order it to either burn down the door, or slam it off its hinges using Strength. While Infernape busies itself, you peer over your shoulder to check no one is watching. 

Of course Infernape succeeds. You’ve trained it brilliantly, after all.

You and your Pokemon step inside. The lights refuse to work, so you depend on Infernape’s flame to guide your way. Once you near the staircase leading down, you think you’ve probably made a mistake. Although Team Galactic conducted their experiments here, there’s no reason to believe Professor Grey would repeat that mistake too.

Infernape happily bolts down the staircase, but comes to a sudden halt when it realises you’re not following. Patiently, your companion waits for your order.

There isn’t an order.

Because you feel a presence behind you.

Surprised, you whip around. Infernape dashes to your feet, but doesn’t attack. 

The presence is a familiar one; one which _would_ have been a threat several years ago. 

Cyrus isn’t looking at you. He gazes, almost dreamily, into the darkness below. When he speaks, his voice is tired, but it’s still heavy; still some authority remains. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to come back here.’

A smile, illegible, twitches his lips. He notices your Infernape.

‘Would you like to know the way?’

You widen your eyes. He knows! ‘Have you seen her?’

‘Of course. I just never said anything.’ He looks at you, and he’s nearly snarling. ‘I hoped after all these years your IQ would have dropped. Clearly I was incorrect––yet again.’ He snorts. Then frowns. ‘You came alone?’

‘Who else would I bring with me?’

Cyrus pauses. Shrugs. Changes topic. ‘I am not on your side. If I could, I would destroy your Pokemon here and now; and throw your bleeding body onto their corpses. However, I, unfortunately, am out of usable Pokemon.’ He sighs and proceeds down the staircase, past you. ‘Consider yourself lucky.’

Whatever he says to you now has little to no effect. 

He isn’t a competition anymore.

So, you follow him, Infernape at your side. Cyrus still walks like a soldier: back straight, shoulders back, but there isn’t any purpose. That has all disappeared. Now, he is a mere shadow of who he once was, and it’s sad. 

You wonder if this will be you at his age.

Mid-thirties, and a loss.

Or perhaps not? You know a trainer around his age who has survived. Who still believes in happiness, who still thinks the world is a beautiful, perfect place. Who is still an optimist, despite everything else.

Cyrus escorts you through a hallway. He doesn’t need Infernape to light his path; he knows it by heart.

‘You’re stupid.’

The remark stumps you. ‘Excuse me?’

Cyrus looks at you and smirks, before facing forward again. You glare at the back of his head; there are plenty of names you could give to this man. 

‘What she has created, they are remarkable creatures.’ He stops at a door. ‘Be respectful of them, please.’ Cyrus turns to see you. ‘By the way your Infernape is acting, I can tell it cares deeply for your wellbeing. Are you so sure it is safe to go alone?’

‘And why would you care?’

‘Oh. I don’t.’

Cyrus pushes the door open. Beyond is another hallway, another door ahead. 

‘Not far now. I would knock. Scientists get angry when they’re disturbed from their work.’ As casually as ever, Cyrus departs, without even a glance at you. You watch until he’s rounded the corner, before going on ahead.

Quickening your pace, you reach for the next door. Inside is a small room, with an entrance below; a ladder in place. You return your Infernape, and make your way further down. Landing on the floor, you’re happy to discover the place is light again. 

A man dressed in a white lab coat stares at you. ‘What are you doing? Get out!’ He snatches his Pokeball, but you bring out your own Pokemon before him. Your Luxray jumps out, electricity shooting form its fur. The scientist steps back, knowing better to endure an electric shock from your companion. ‘Get out of here,’ he mumbles.

You have caught the attention of other scientists. And then you see where you are. 

It is similar to the lab near Snowpoint, but this one is larger, more appropriate. Not to mention, the creatures being created are fully-formed, waiting to be set free from their jelly-like substance. You’re horrified. None of these creatures look anything at all like Pokemon; they have been mutilated and moulded into things unfamiliar.

One scientist, holding a pad of notes, approaches you. She’s calmer than the other scientist, but there’s an edge to her tone. ‘I suggest you leave immediately. This isn’t a place for children––’ 

‘I am not a child,’ you snap. ‘I am here to see the Professor.’

‘The Professor?’ A voice calls.

The female scientist and you turn to see the source. Your heart stops when you discover it is the woman herself, and it is impressive how such a mad character can appear so tame. In the light, she has a gentle face, very big eyes, and a joyful smile. 

‘You took your time,’ Professor Grey shoves the female scientist aside and stops at arm’s length from you. ‘Ah, Dawn. You should have followed their advice while you could. But I shall repeat their warning one last time: get out.’

Luxray roars from behind. ‘I’m staying put.’

The Professor shakes her head, rolling her eyes. ‘Your brilliance has got the better of you.’

‘I can set this place on fire if I wished. Then I will be rid of your sick experiments.’

‘You want to go there, eh?’ Grey jars her teeth, and now her face isn’t so gentle. In fact, it’s almost frightening how her face has darkened. ‘I went easy on you last time. Don’t expect me to be friendly. Oh, and I see you neglected to bring your friend along. Very well.’

She retrieves three Pokeballs from her lab coat pocket.

‘Kiss your Lxuray good night. This may be the last opportunity you have to do so.’

Then she throws all three up into the air. They explode before hitting the floor, and before you even have the time to see what has escaped, your Luxray is sent spiralling into the wall. Your unable to make sure its okay, because something tangles its way around your ankles and trips you up. Slamming your head into the floor, you let out a wail.

At the sound, your Infernape escapes its confinement, and comes to your protection.

‘Fire Blitz!’

Its anger is violent, and you can _feel_ it. Your Infernape’s body bursts into flames, and in that short moment when fire is being set towards the enemy, you’re able to see what has attacked you. But you cannot make sense of them.

One is the first you met back at Snowpoint, but the other two?

Infernape hisses and dashes over to you when you’re back on your feet. 

‘Furious little thing, isn’t it?’ Grey mutters.

The creature Infernape attacked is slightly burned. However barely any damage has been made. 

You return your Infernape. 

‘Is this surrender?’

You return your Luxray. ‘I will not allow you to treat my Pokemon that way.’

‘Ha. Darling, there are no rules here. You either play or you die.’ Grey clicks her fingers. One of her beloved creatures targets you. The Pokeball Infernape is locked within starts to shake, and you can tell it wants out. 

But you hold it shut.

What look like tentacles come at you. They mirror that of a Tentacruel, but its the sharp points on each end which are troublesome. Before you’re able to make a run, its tentacles grab for your body. And _squeeze_. You gasp, and struggle out of the creature’s lock, but it’s got you in place, and as it squeezes harder, you’re certain you can feel your bones snapping.

A Pokeball drops from your belt.

Gallade escapes and witnesses what has happened to its trainer. Immediately it slices at the creature’s tentacles, desperate for you to escape, but each time, its tentacles keep growing back. You scream, and it hurts, and suddenly you can’t breathe and you think––

_damn damn it damn damn damn it_

Why did you do this alone?

‘Break her.’

The creature tightens its hold, and your Gallade stubbornly tries to set you free.

But after a while, you start to feel weaker; everything is lighter, and you feel sleepy; you feel as if you could collapse and dream for an eternity. Your Gallade is wailing out, but you can’t hear it; and suddenly it’s okay.

It’s okay to die.

‘Hyper Beam.’

What happens next––you don’t see it.

You’re blinded, and in a flash, your body crashes to the ground. 

A high-pitched scream echoes the room. And suddenly another jet of light is released. Your Gallade hurries over to your limp form, but you can’t hear it, can’t feel it. There is another high-pitched scream, and something heavily collapses. It shakes the building, and you gasp out for breath instantly; your lungs ache and you’re close to vomiting, but you tuck your head into your arms when another jet of light explodes out.

‘Look what you’ve done!’ Professor Grey yells. 

‘I fear you might have made a mistake breaking the rules. You see, I have no qualms with you defeating this trainer––but this isn’t a respectable battle which I can tolerate. Might I also mention backup is on the way. You might want to scuttle off.’

Heavy footsteps near where you lay. 

‘I am not a woman who easily forfeits. You are unfamiliar with this kind of strength, Cyrus. That Weevile of yours may be powerful, but it sure is a small thing.’ She clicks her fingers. ‘Come on, my sweetheart. Let’s finish him too.’

You stir. 

A wave of snow blasts into your body, and you’re unable to hear or see anything which happens next. 

‘Ha! How ridiculous. Weevile is an ice-type. Your tricks are fruitless.’

‘Or are they? Fire Blast.’

Just like that, the blizzard of snowflakes transform into hot embers. The Weevile exclaims out in surprise, and flinches at the burn. But the poor thing is surrounded. Before it is able to return to its master, a blast of fire is directed towards its small body.

Eyes wide, you force yourself back onto your feet, ignoring the burns singing your clothes and skin. ‘Floatzel!’ Your water-type is released, ‘Surf! Now!’ On cue, your Floatzel emits a giant wave of water and the flames are extinguished. The wave crashes into Grey’s creature, swallowing it whole. ‘Finish it with an Ice Beam!’

‘Not so fast. Shock that animal until it’s unable to move!’

You’re too slow. Her last remaining creature releases a wave of electricity, capturing your Floatzel into a torturous spasm. 

You reach for your Pokeball.

‘Horn Attack!’

What…?

You don’t see the next Pokemon she releases. It’s similar to a Rhyhorn, but its speed is different. ‘Out of the way,’ you hear Cyrus, but his advice doesn’t reach your ears in time. 

It is heavy.

And the impact winds you, a large cut down your spine when its horn drags over your flesh.

You tumble to the floor, vulnerable and easy prey. The creature skids to a halt, and turns to run back for you. _You have to move_. Groaning, you reach for another Pokeball, and immediately your Infernape escapes. 

Fire halts the creature in its track, distracting it momentarily. 

‘Dragon Rush!’

Infernape dodges the move skilfully, but the attack was not intended for it. A wave of hot, blue fire absorbs the room; oxygen is stolen from your lungs for a second, and you watch as the creature which harmed you collapses unconscious. 

Each time you see this Garchomp, you’re never prepared. It is the largest you’ve witnessed, and even its glare is enough to chill any Pokemon or human to the bone. Wincing, you drag yourself out of the way. Professor Grey scoffs, and turns her attention to the Garchomp which has just arrived. ‘Always one for a fancy entrance.’

‘How many more?’ Heat reaches your cheeks. You’re not sure if Cyrus informed Cynthia about your whereabouts, or if she just knew. Regardless, you doubt she’s pleased. ‘I have a level eighty Garchomp here, so, for your sake, you should answer me. How many more of these _things_ have you created?’

By this point, each scientist has fled from danger. Professor Grey remains, seething. ‘Go ahead: you can destroy this place, but I have many more. We’re simply another organisation! We have dedicated our lives to this work, and there is nothing you can do.’

Cyrus is chuckling to himself. You look over to him. ‘Ah, you are a _terrible_ liar.’

‘What would you know? You gave up on this idea long ago. You’re _nothing_.’

He takes this to heart. He doesn’t express his pain, but you can tell. You can tell because you’ve seen him this way before.

Except you were holding the knife that time.

‘More backup is on the way. So, I suppose you can answer to them instead,’ Cyrus shrugs carelessly. ‘I am finished here.’

Before he can leave, Cynthia grabs him by the scruff of his collar and shoves him forwards. ‘This is _your_ doing; you’re not going anywhere.’ Cyrus is taken by surprise, but reluctantly does as he’s told. ‘He is right: officers are on their way. You make the slightest movement, and I’ll ensure you won’t have any legs to stand on.’

‘Fierce.’ Grey glances at you. ‘Did I hit a soft spot?’ 

Her amusement disappears when the Garchomp takes a step closer. You exhale, pushing yourself up against the wall, but it’s difficult to move: you’re not sure if your spine is all right, and your skin is certainly burnt; you sting all over, and it’s hard to breathe but––

Footsteps.

You turn your head to where Cynthia is, and five officers appear, weapons strapped to their shoulder. A wave of relief floods through you. They hurry over to Professor Grey, who starts to laugh. But she’s thrown off guard when the officers shove her against the wall, and handcuff her hands from behind.

More officers arrive to inspect the area, and the Professor is taken away––she flashes a little wink at you before she disappears upstairs without a fight.

‘Dawn.’

Relief transforms into warmth, and, as much as you expect her to, Cynthia doesn’t scold you. Instead, she kneels down, and places an arm around your back, before carefully helping you to your feet. It stings to do so, and she encourages you to lean most of your weight on her. She pulls you close, and you have no intention to leave her side.

When you look up, Cyrus has gone.

 

 

A nurse wants you to rest. You are sore, bruised and blood is oozing through your bandages, but all you can think about are your injured Pokemon, your Luxray in particular. However the nurse is not allowed to share any information with you, and it is _heartbreaking_. Because you have done it again: overestimated.

Too ambitious.

Stupid.

Cyrus was right.

_I am a stupid girl_.

And what about Grey? What will happen to her? Will they arrest her? Will they discover where the rest of her labs are? What happens next?

You are given morphine for the pain; you are eased into a mild state of relaxation, but it’s not enough. 

It’s not enough.

It’s not enough that you aren’t the best. That all of those years travelling were worthless. That you were unable to save the world this time around; it was beyond your capabilities. Maybe that girl called Dawn who started off so young, so innocent, so sweet has gone completely now. Maybe that wisdom you once possessed as a child has abandoned you.

You think back to all of that.

When your Pokemon aged beside you, when you died and lived with them. The excitement, the thrill, the _rush_ of it all.

Suddenly, Pokemon training is no longer a hobby; it has become a job.

A duty.

A duty of war, protecting others, while killing yourself in the process.

What have you become?

The girl, holding the Master Ball in her palms. Blinded by power.

What life is that…?

You throw the sheets of your body. Tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to cry. Your throat narrows, aches, desperate to wail, but you _refuse_. You _reject_ your agony. Yet your body is… _ruined_. Shredded and broken, bandaged up, healing; and you are immobile. While it is only for the time being, you are still in awe.

This is what you have become.

A girl, a soldier––defeated, by her own innocence.

 

 

_From the other side, you can see him watching you; his form is that of a statue. Immobile; frozen. But his stare is alive. Never has he watched you this way before. The Distortion World has absorbed you both, and, for a split second, you are not his enemy, but his companion. His only friend, his only way out of this Hell._

_Cyrus guides you. Not very far, but he guides you to the next step._

_The three spirits observe your every move. You have become a fascination, and the few organisms who have survived this lonely land are in awe. Your power resonates. Those three spirits who nobody has ever been able to capture approach you with confidence; they warm up to you. They trust you. They trust you to save them._

_Each one, they take your hand, send you closer and closer towards the God of Death._

_Never._

_Never have you witnessed anything more disturbing, yet graceful. More ugly, yet exquisite._

_You are almost the naive girl, earning her first Pokemon. Easily handled and manoeuvred about by God’s hand._

_Gravity slips away._

_You float. Glide through the air._

_Logic has no home here._

_The laws have disintegrated._

 

 

_… and it watches you._

_Always._

_Submissive to your every command; the God is yours._

_Perhaps it waits. Waits for the opportune moment. To unleash from the Master Ball, and take you whole._

_You can feel its eyes on your back._

_Sewn into your mind._

_Can feel its claws down your spine._

 

 

Luxray is dead.

You don’t know how you know.

But you know.

You know before the nurse informs you, and you feel nothing. You don’t think about the creature you once cuddled close. Your second companion, who you caught at the tender level of three. You don’t, _can’t_ , think.

All there is to think is your Luxray.

‘Can I contact anybody? Is there somebody you need to speak to?’

Barry is the first person who comes to mind.

Immediately you dismiss him. He isn’t very good with emotions; isn’t very good at offering comfort. Your mind is frazzled, blurred, _numb_ , for a long while.

Then, all along, you realise there’s only been one person you’ve wanted to see.

How would she react?

What would she _think_?

Your own Pokemon, deceased.

What kind of trainer allows their Pokemon to _die_? 

What kind of trainer doesn’t weep when their Pokemon slips between their fingers?

 

 

_You envy Cyrus._

_The Cyrus before you._

_Dead, with a rotting heart._

_Immune to agony._

 

 

She comes to you anyway. 

You’re not quite sure how to tell her, but before you part your lips to speak, you realise she’s already been informed. Probably before you. And you wonder how long that has been; how long has it been since Luxray passed? Did it die immediately, the moment Grey sent it thudding into the wall? As if it were a toy, something flimsy to fling around.

‘But you’re still with us.’

Just.

At least _you_ survived. At least you got away, even if it resulted in half of your body being mutilated. 

You don’t have a reaction. Not really. 

She touches your face. You jolt, but she holds you steady, and then you _breathe_. You find her eyes, and _breathe_ , and then, _finally_ , it all tips over.

Everything.

From the day you obtained your first Pokemon, to catching your first; your first Gym Badge; confronted by Cyrus; taught by the woman who cradles your head so softly; the three spirits; the Lakes; Galactic; _that godforsaken realm_ , and then this. 

Fate has been unkind, and now you have endured the consequences.

‘I’m sorry.’

It comes out in a burst. 

A sudden release. 

Your bottled emotions pour out, and you weep an apology. But you don’t know why; you can’t pinpoint what you’re sorry about. Everything. _Everything you are sorry about_. You are sorry you walked along this tragic path, you are sorry you became powerful, that you caught the most desired Pokemon on earth––

You are sorry for being imperfect.

Not good enough.

Sorry you lost a friend, sorry you _failed_ , sorry you could do nothing but _die_ in those few seconds. 

‘No. Shh, it’s all right.’

She wipes a tear falling across your cheek, and you have to look away at that point. Ashamed to cry, ashamed to let yourself tear apart before her. You wanted to be brilliant, and somehow became the most pitiful girl to exist. 

Was this what happened to Red?

The reason for his sad smiles, his eventless losses.

His blunt joy.

‘You tried. That’s plenty.’

If she says anymore, you’re not sure you can take it. Not sure you’ll be able to stop yourself from breaking entirely. 

Your ribs, chest and heart ache when you reach for her. And she holds you, holds you tightly, yet so carefully, her hands soft against your bruised flesh. You cling on, hiding your face into the crook of her neck, and that’s all you can do. Let yourself go. To tremble in this woman’s arms, until the pain isn’t so bad anymore.

 

 

Patience is all she has to offer you, but you steal it all; _take it_. 

And she holds, cuddles you, cradles you, for so long, you forget. But it is still not enough. Still not enough to erase your memories; those chilling images. Your loss. Yet so, you let her hold you, let yourself hold her; in this little dark place, she’s all you have.

Your eyes are sore, cheeks red, and your heart is gaping with pain. You are a warrior in desperate need of rest; of a _moment_. 

The two of you draw back. Slightly. You look down, and feel the weight of your chest; your wounds, and your head.

Then you are kissed.

 

 

Nothing compares. Nothing compares to her softness; how time freezes. How the world is ceaseless and all you can smell, taste, _find_ , is her. 

That’s all it takes to ease the pain.

Her lips are a feather against yours. Almost ghostly. So gentle, afraid the most tender gesture may hurt you more. 

But you have never associated her with agony. Never. 

 

 

‘You are not to blame, darling.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a beast to write! I had no idea these two would have so much _depth_ , but, lo and behold, they do.
> 
> I am not too sure who is reading this story but, if you are, please share your thoughts and/or give me a kudos. Either way, thank you very much! I have a busy life at the moment, so I'm not too sure when I'll next be able to update, however it should hopefully be soon.


	4. 04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say thank you to everybody who left a kudos and/or a comment. I really, really appreciate your feedback so much; it means the absolute world to me.  
> I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

The burial of an owned Pokemon is a private ritual; one which _only_ the trainer attends. Some like to glamorise them, but you stick to simple. Once you’re able to walk again, you take your Luxray with you, gently placing it in the hole you dug out. There isn’t much to be said. You don’t think it is necessary to share your thoughts; it knows how you feel, knows what you thought of it, knows that you didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

Naturally, the rest of your party feel Luxray’s absence, and all of their misery combined sends you into a state of severe depression. Pokemon and their trainers have an inextricable, psychological connection; you feel as they do, only more extreme. Your Infernape prefers to stay out of its Pokeball, and spends more time snuggling up beside you while your wounds heal. It is unusually quiet, and when you try to talk to it, it either ignores you or doesn’t have the motivation to reply.

It angers you immensely, but nobody approaches you about Professor Grey; whether or not she has revealed anything, what shall happen to her. You’re revolted. Humiliated, even. You gave a Pokemon’s _life_ in order to capture that maddened woman. Doesn’t anybody have the decency to _at least_ tell you what the next step is? This is _your_ case, and you fought for it; if it weren’t for you, then Professor Grey would still be conducting her research.

Of course, it becomes clear after a while.

Even if you’re at the age of twenty-four, people still look at you as a child. Someone in need of protecting. Which is absurd. When you _were_ a child, you didn’t require protection––you had your Pokemon, and they had you. The only reason you survived Cyrus and his chilling plans was because you were protected; you were brilliant and, damn it, you still _are_. 

Did she kiss you for that reason…?

Did she kiss you for your brilliance? Or, did she kiss you because you were vulnerable in that moment? Did she kiss you for the sake of kissing you, or was it all empathy; a tender action of sympathy which meant nothing?

Has everything between you both been _nothing_?

 

 

Barry visits you, and helps pull you out of your depressive slumber. He doesn’t ask about Professor Grey, or the fact you went on ahead without him. The trainer is aware of your loss, and decides to use common sense.

What is important is his friend. So, he sits beside you on the bed, and cuddles you. 

It’s nice, seeing him this way. Barry has always been compulsive and hurried, but the sight of seeing you damaged and hurt––

–– _halts_ him.

In some attempt to help you feel better, he jabs at his own self esteem. ‘Better you than me. If I had been there instead, all of my Pokemon would have been taken.’ He pauses. Then smiles. ‘That’s why you defeated the Elite Four, y’know? Because you’re _that_ good.’

You don’t reply, but you appreciate his words.

He may not be good with emotions, but Barry _is_ trying, and that’s more than enough.

‘I got an idea.’ Pulling away from you, Barry slips off the bed. ‘How about a battle? That’ll not only cheer you up, but your Pokemon too. Hey, I’ll go easy on you!’

A part of you can’t handle the thought. Battling. Christ… you’ve had your fair share already, and you don’t think you can take it anymore. The very thought of your Pokemon becoming further injured breaks your heart all over again. 

Yet, another part of you, this hungry, vengeful, wonderful and sweet part of you, is what forces you to your feet.

You will not say _no_.

Not to Grey, not to Barry, not to anybody. You are your own woman, and even if the loss of a Pokemon has trampled your spirit, you will keep going. 

That’s what you have been doing all of these years: accepting defeat, but holding your ground.

 

 

Outside the Pokemon Centre is a small tournament area for trainers to practice. It is all meant light-heartedly; no significant damage is to be caused to Pokemon in this platform. You think Barry chose this stadium specifically for that reason. This isn’t a serious battle; not a competition either. Just a little helping hand to get you back into training again.

It is painful to walk. Your leg is sore, and you continue to depend on a crutch, but your disabilities will not have an impact on your battling. Beside you, your Infernape walks at your pace, and you can sense it starting to feel excited. Perhaps Barry’s idea isn’t so silly after all; maybe this _will_ do your Pokemon good, as well as yourself.

Barry retrieves his Pokeball, and throws it towards the centre of the stadium.

 

 

The amount of damage inflicted is minimal. 

All of your Pokemon have had the opportunity to fight, and they’re all been enthusiastic, bar one. Your Garchomp has always been the fiercest out of the lot, but also the most moody. It refuses to hear orders, and you’re slightly embarrassed, but Barry makes a small joke, and encourages you to choose another Pokemon to fight.

You win. You’re not sure if Barry allows you to, but you still won, and it feels good. Or, perhaps your Pokemon’s joy and enthusiasm is what feels good. Really, you don’t know. Needless to say, Infernape has cheered up, and is now paying attention to what you say. Barry cuddles you one last time, and then disappears off to continue his own work.

Which leaves you with Garchomp. You return Infernape into its Pokeball, and turn to the large dragon.

It is a small Garchomp, as far as Garchomps go, but its unusual size has not reflected its power in the slightest way. However, you’ve always thought its smallness is what has caused it to feel _emotions_ so powerfully. It isn’t Luxray’s death which has made it disinterested in its trainer; there’s more depth to its grumpiness.

You can try and reason with the Pokemon, but Garchomp is scary, and while it is loyal to you, you know it can kill with just a slash of its claws.

Just like you are, your Garchomp is _very_ aware of your failure. 

However, more to the fact, it is irritated you did not use it when you could. Out of your whole party, Garchomp is the most powerful, and you supposedly ignored it when it could have been of great use. Perhaps what it is enduring is betrayal, but its respect for you has certainly diminished considerably. You are a reckless trainer if you allow a Pokemon to die for absolutely no reason.

In other words, you could have won if you gave Garchomp a chance.

This is pride, self esteem and _value_ all mixed together; all crushed in one, and you accept your blame.

But, you have limits to your patience as well.

‘Will you behave like this for the remainder of the day?’

Garchomp has its back turned, and is apparently _fascinated_ in what is happening outside of the stadium gates. 

It doesn’t offer a reply of any sort.

You’re hurt.

‘Very well.’ You grab its Pokeball. ‘Return.’

 

 

Pokemon psychology is a complex subject. You kindly ask a nurse if she would provide you a few books on the matter, and, within the hour, she returns with them. This is probably all worthless, because Garchomp might see sense in time, but how can you be back on your feet, when one member of your party isn’t?

Training has always been about teamwork. You can’t be a trainer if you don’t care for _all_ of your Pokemon equally.

Sitting upright in bed, you flick through the books, and some chapters are relevant, but they don’t necessarily answer your questions. Much advice is given on feeding your depressed Pokemon with poffins, taking them on leisurely strolls, dressing them up (you snort at that), entering them into competitions (yeah, right, Garchomp would _love_ that), or training them consistently in battle.

You try feeding Garchomp its favourite poffins but it refuses. While your other Pokemon greedily much away at their treats, Garchomp remains reluctant. This is further proven when your Floatzel nudges a poffin in Garchomp’s direction. Garchomp turns and roars at your companion, to which Floatzel hisses and stands up straight in defence. 

Before both of your Pokemon end up hurting each other, you immediately intervene. ‘Floatzel, back down!’ Your Pokemon growls in the back of its throat, but drops to all fours. It reluctantly walks away. 

You look over at Garchomp, and it huffs at you, smoke escaping its nostrils. 

Now that it feels your anger, you worry any reconciliation might be too late. If your Garchomp continues to not only abuse you, but your Pokemon, you won’t know what to do. 

Perhaps this is you losing a friend.

 

 

You’re close to giving up on the books; they’re useless and so _out of touch_ with reality. Pokemon can have deep mental states of depression, just like humans can––some tasty treats won’t do the trick! More is required, but you have no idea where to start.

By this point, you have started to walk without your crutch. It makes life a heck of a lot easier, and allows you to spend more time on your feet. You borrow the Pokemon Centre’s stadium for a couple of hours, releasing only your Garchomp.

‘How about it? The whole stadium is yours, and as your trainer, I am allowing you to unload your anger. Do what you will.’

As expected, Garchomp snorts, and prefers the view of the outside. 

‘I made a mistake,’ you say. ‘And I have apologised.’

Still nothing.

You clench your jaw. What more can you do? Is your Garchomp truly _this_ selfish? You have done _everything_. You have fed it treats, given it special attention, allowed it to ruin a stadium for Christ’s sake and _still_ it offers you _nothing_.

Would it rather you ripped your identity from it, and that you walked away?

So, after everything, you would just _abandon it_. You would leave it be forever, and that would be that. You will have lost _two_ Pokemon in less than a month. 

And they call you Champion.

‘Well, well: would you look at you?’

You’re jumped out of your reverie, and whip your head around. Cynthia has just entered the stadium, and you’re surprised to see her; it has been a while, after all. In fact, you were fairly certain she had no intention to see you at all. 

‘I knew you would heal fast.’ She comes over to where you stand, glances at your Garchomp once, and then back at you. ‘Are you both having a minor fallout?’

‘I wouldn’t say _minor_ …’ you mumble.

‘That isn’t all right.’ She takes a Pokeball. ‘What gender is your Garchomp?’

‘Male.’

‘Well, if he goes that way, I think what he wants is a little familiar attention.’ She throws her Pokeball in the direction of your Garchomp, and out from it appears her own. Cynthia’s is more advanced, and not to mention larger; its presence is dominating and frightening, but to another Garchomp, its presence is welcomed. 

To your relief, your Garchomp decides to show some manners, and acknowledges Cynthia’s Pokemon. Due to its own experience of grief and life in general, Cynthia’s Garchomp registers the issue, and you’re kind of expecting it to show some form of affection.

However this _is_ a Garchomp.

They are violent creatures.

So when Cynthia’s Garchomp hits yours across the head, you exclaim in horror.

‘Dawn, calm down. My Garchomp has not been given permission to harm your Pokemon; she’s just slapping a little sense into him.’ Your Garchomp growls at the other, but seems to relax a little. ‘Quite literally too.’

Just like that, your Garchomp has calmed itself, and the two start to have what appears to be a conversation. 

Whatever is being discussed, you don’t mind. As long as your Garchomp has started cooperating with somebody, even if it’s not you.

‘Have you been okay?’ Cynthia has lost interest; she turns full attention to you, and you can _feel_ her gaze. ‘I apologise; I intended to visit you, but what with everything that has happened, I have been quite busy.’

You feel bitter at that. ‘So busy you haven’t been able to tell me what’s going on?’ Cynthia raises a brow. ‘I have been left in the dark.’

‘Yes, I am aware. I didn’t want anybody to tell you anything; not until you were okay.’

‘I have been okay for _weeks_.’

‘Dawn. Please. Control your temper; it doesn’t look good on you.’ She smiles crookedly. ‘Listen, I understand you are frustrated, but you have had plenty on your plate. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt again. You need to start trusting me.’

You open your mouth to retort, but she catches you there.

So, you do as she says, and calm down. ‘I do trust you.’

Her face softens at that. ‘Good; I’m glad.’ She smiles at you properly then; it’s kind and bright. ‘Will you answer my question? _Have_ you been okay?’

‘Yes,’ you say. You look at her eyes once, and decide to never look again. Those eyes are so blue and grey and light, they could tear you apart. ‘I have.’

‘I’ve been worried.’ A pause. ‘The nurses informed me you’ve been researching into Pokemon psychology.’

‘Ah.’ Suddenly the floor is _so interesting_. ‘I wanted to figure out how to help my Garchomp.’

‘You could have asked me.’

‘You were busy.’

‘I’m never busy when it comes to you, Dawn.’

Heat reaches your cheeks. The floor is still interesting. ‘I couldn’t––’ You inhale, then finally raise your gaze. You still won’t look at her, but you know she’s looking at you. And as much as you refuse to admit it, you like it; you like it when she pays attention to you, when all she’s focussed on is you. You feel better, you feel as if you’re cared for. You feel known. ‘I couldn’t ask.’

‘Why?’

You exhale shakily. ‘When I was younger, I would have asked, but things are different now. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.’

Except it does matter.

A lot.

Cynthia waits. But there is nothing left to say, and if she doesn’t stop _gazing at you like that_ you are certain you are going to _drown_ in everything you’re feeling. 

Finally, _finally_ , she releases you from her hold.

‘I understand.’ 

Your throat narrows.

You wish she didn’t understand; you wish she would fight for an answer. A proper answer.

‘Garchomp?’ At her call, Cynthia’s Garchomp walks away from your own and comes to join her. ‘Say, Dawn, now that your Garchomp is feeling a little less blue, how would you feel towards a battle? I assure you, this will not be a serious one.’

‘Thank you, but my friend, uh––Barry, he’s already done that.’

‘Another one shan’t hurt. Not to mention––’ she gestures towards your less moody Garchomp, who’s now looking at you for the first time in weeks. ‘––you have an extra teammate. Also: I’d be lying if I refused to admit I want another rematch. You were, and still are, the most thrilling trainer who has ever approached me.’

Your chest hurts from the scream you’re holding back.

But, you take her compliment, and comply. ‘Another one shan’t hurt,’ you repeat her words under your breath. 

Trying to convince yourself.

Trying to stay sane.

You think about her kiss, and that’s all you’re ever able to think about.

Like Barry, Cynthia does go easy on you, but the odd occasion she teases; she might smack your Pokemon down with a sudden move, but it’s all in good nature. Cynthia is gentle, even in battle, and she knows what she’s doing.

Her Garchomp isn’t as playful. However, it knows this isn’t a serious battle, and so doesn’t inflict too much harm. You allow your Floatzel to take it on, and after a few uses of Ice Beam, and one rather fierce assault of Dragon Rage, your Floatzel triumphs. Maybe Cynthia is allowing you to win, aware that this will only help boost your Pokemon’s confidence after what occurred. 

It is her Togekiss and Roserade which proves tricky.

Mostly because of their happiness, but for the former, there was one Pokemon in particular you sent out to defeat it.

Your Luxray would have enjoyed this battle.

It stings. 

Stings so much you wipe your tears with the back of your hands, and Cynthia pauses the battle to comfort you. 

Of course she does.

Maybe that’s what makes you mad. What makes you cry harder.

And you’re _sick_ of crying.

‘I’m sorry,’ you sniff. ‘I think I’m tired.’

‘You fought well.’ 

Her voice is warm. You drop your hands to look at her, and there’s still this daring look in her eyes from the battle, but a sort of contentment. What _you_ make her feel. It’s as if sunshine, flowers, everything pretty has carved itself into a single form. That’s how she’s always appeared to you, from the day you met her: radiant––so ridiculously in love with life. 

You would have envied her, if you didn’t admire her for it.

But perhaps it has always been more than mere admiration. At fifteen, you would have dismissed the idea, yet now?

Now you don’t know.

You don’t really know much. All you know is that when she looks at you this way, when she praises your training, when she cares––nothing else really matters anymore.

When the last of your tears have gone, you’re able to speak. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to delay the battle. I wasn’t expecting your invitation and…’ You swallow. ‘Just what you do to me. Since I was fifteen; you’ve just had this _effect_.’

‘I have?’

‘Mhmm.’ You exhale. Look at her. A smile happens, and you’re surprised yourself you’re able to _smile_ at a time like this. ‘And then you kissed me.’

Cynthia doesn’t necessarily respond, but she waits for whatever you have to say next. 

‘I was nervous. I am. With you.’

Your heart is ready to burst. You’ve said enough (too much) and the battle cannot be resumed. Cynthia releases your hand when you pull back. You didn’t even realise she was touching you until now. As if her touch is necessary in everything; her comforting you has always been, so, you no longer _notice_. It no longer has an _impact_. 

She reaches over and curls a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘You don’t need to be nervous around me.’

It dazzles you; stuns you into a momentary haven. Where all that is, is you and her. You glance to her lips, then to her eyes again, and wonder if this is the love they write about. Those sick and heartbroken, cradling their wounds through poetry.

But, you don’t think that’s something you can know about.

Cynthia either respects you more than she should, or is as clueless as you, because she looks down, and doesn’t stop you from returning your Pokemon. All the while, you feel her presence, and it’s heavy, and yet so up-lifting.

Delirious. 

‘If you like––’ you turn to her, ‘––I can send Professor Rowan to you; he can update you on what has been happening.’

You wish her to stay, but you don’t ask. 

Can’t. 

Nodding once, you return the last of your Pokemon, and let her leave you. 

As much as your body wails out.

 


	5. 05

When Professor Rowan visits, there is little you expect him to reveal. However, to your pleasant surprise, he tells you everything: unfortunately, after much effort, Grey has been stubborn, refusing to discuss her work with the authorities. That is until she specifically asked for you; she wants to see you, and only you.

‘Are you going to tell me about it then?’ You begin. ‘About her research. I asked you before, and you wouldn’t give me an answer.’

He still views you as a child; the sweet girl he met so long ago. But at your approach, he’s bewildered. The man’s age shows, and, for a moment, his face darkens and you’re certain he might yell. He doesn’t, however. 

Instead he sort of reclines. Drops his shoulders, and shakes his head lightly; giving up. 

‘Many curious students have asked me about this sort of thing.’ He places his hands in his pockets, and avoids your gaze. There’s a hint of shame in his tone; you’re treading into grounds he has no wish to return to. ‘One, in particular, I believed meant sincerely. He was only seventeen at the time, and he came to me with his research. Asked for my thoughts.’

You know this _he_. Cyrus pops into your head and your insides go cold. 

‘I never thought he would become so beastly.’

Now _you_ look away. 

Beastly?

Is that what to call a trainer? A trainer who has put so much passion and hard work into what they do? _Beastly_. Ought Rowan not call you that as well?

‘The wrong student had the wrong interests.’ Rowan sighs. ‘I wish he studied myths; at least, then, he might not have turned into such a maddened man. I don’t know what happened to him really: one moment he was curious, almost angelic. The next? Well. I could not recognise him at first. You may not believe me, but Cyrus was a good person. Once.’

You can believe it.

Of course you can.

‘Perhaps it’s not that simple anyway.’ He clears his throat. ‘Perhaps he just didn’t have somebody to guide him. Dare I say: _love_ him.’

You recall Cynthia’s description of the young Cyrus. Ambitious, highly competitive, and emotionally ruined. ‘Is that what causes insanity, Professor?’ Your voice is unusually pitched. ‘Lack of love?’

‘I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to human psychology, child.’ He stops himself. You ignore the _child_ remark, but it _bites_. ‘Maybe not. Some people can overcome it; I know many who have. It really depends.’

‘Depends?’

Rowan smiles. It’s not patronising; it’s just friendly.

‘I did have one student; the best student I’ve ever had. Her grandmother raised her. The girl’s parents had been killed by a very vicious kind of Pokemon; they went out to train, and were ambushed. Unfortunately the Pokemon they had on them were too weak to defend them. They died and, for some, that would be an excuse to hate the Pokemon species. To refuse to move on.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘Oh, she’s around.’ Rowan inhales. ‘Now, come on. If we want this to be put to at end, we can’t waste anymore time.’ He takes your jacket from the end of the hospital bed, and hands it over. ‘Are you all right to walk?’

You’re thinking about the girl, orphaned at a young age; adopted by her grandmother.

Rowan’s favourite student.

Your heart flutters. 

‘I am.’

 

 

There is a bit of friction between Pokemon trainers and the police; trainers have a habit in breaking the law for the advantage of their own Pokemon and, naturally, police officers aren’t too crazy about that. So when you enter the police station, not many officers are eager to acknowledge your presence. If Rowan weren’t such a respected professor, you doubt you’d be able to get in at all.

One officer is cold with you at first, but once Rowan has convinced him you’re here to help, he softens up slightly. You’re not entirely sure what you will achieve. Yet, if Professor Grey is that keen to see you, then this venture might not be so fruitless.

The person you don’t expect to meet is Professor Oak. He flew into Sinnoh only yesterday. Although he isn’t to blame for Grey’s work, he clearly has some insight on it. Considering you two have met before, Oak welcomes you fondly. ‘I was hoping we would meet again!’ He takes your hand to shake it. ‘Tell me, how has your Pokedex progressed?’

‘Ah…’ You’ve forgotten, but Rowan steps in.

‘I actually stole Dawn’s Pokedex from her for the moment. So far? Excellent work. I will be happy to share her data with you, Oak.’

‘That is very kind.’ He smiles shortly. ‘I imagine you aren’t here to see me?’ A chuckle. ‘I assure you, if I had any idea she would resort to such madness, I would have put an end to it immediately.’ You believe him, but don’t speak. It all just sounds like Cyrus again. The brilliant, enthusiastic student, and the professor who has gone _soft_. 

Wrong information in the wrong hands.

‘Grey shall be in the interrogation room soon,’ Oak says. ‘The good news is that we have been able to discover two bases where her experiments are being conducted. It is only a matter of time until this all blows over finally.’

A part of you snaps, but your frustration fails to express itself. 

Blows over? What a joke. This will go on for years and years and years. You highly doubt Cyrus was the first _genius_ to think of this sort of thing. Perhaps Oak and Rowan _are_ starting to get a bit too old, but you can’t understand their naivety.

Words spill from your mouth: ‘You knew, though. I read your letters.’ Oak looks down to the floor. ‘She asked you to work with her.’

‘ _For_ her,’ Oak corrects, and when he meets your eyes, there’s a sternness. Maybe he isn’t as silly as you think. ‘I know what she wrote; I know what our letters contained, but, no: you’re wrong. I did not know she would amount to this.’ His face hardens, and you know he is lying. Your respect for this man dampens considerably, and it’s an ugly revelation.

Rowan is clearly the most level-headed. He laughs: ‘Dawn, you can be forward. Come on now.’ You step down obediently, but Oak doesn’t speak to you after that. In fact, as you and he are escorted to the interrogation room, he can’t even _look_ at you anymore. You know you’ve prodded a sensitive spot, but the fact he is too proud to admit to it _angers_ you.

After everything Grey has done––killing your _Pokemon_ for starters!––Oak could have the decency to tell the truth.

The officer who spoke to you before comes forward. ‘Dawn, you and I shall go in alone. The rest of you can watch.’ He turns to you. ‘I won’t be saying anything; I’ll simply be there to make sure things go all right.’ He sneers a little. ‘Listen, I don’t expect anything out of this, so if nothing happens in the next ten minutes, you’re out.’

You nod, jaw clenched.

Oak and Rowan depart into the observatory room, and you follow the officer to where Professor Grey is.

Now that she has been stripped from her lab coat, you nearly don’t recognise her. It’s bizarre that an item of clothing can become such a signature identity. The officer closes the door, and as you approach your seat, Grey looks up, with a wide grin. ‘Our heroine returns!’ You sit opposite. ‘How is your darling Luxray? Better?’

You don’t give her the pleasure of a response.

‘Why did you ask for me?’

Grey stretches out, leans back in her seat. ‘Do you want to know where my other labs are located?’ You don’t answer. She smirks. ‘I am willing to cooperate, but, you see, these chummy gentlemen––’ she glances at the police officer, ‘––don’t intend to let me out anytime soon. I’ll tell you everything, Dawn, but you got to get me out of here.’

There it is: that insecurity, that fear.

It’s about time it showed itself, and you _hate_ it. 

Letting this woman out? You restrain yourself. You don’t think about Luxray, how much it still stings; don’t think about how Garchomp loathed you in those few days. How when it looked at you, you were no longer a respectable trainer.

Friend, for that matter.

If Cyrus did not show in time, you would be dead.

If Cynthia did not show in time, you _both_ would be dead.

Because of _this_ woman. 

You look at her, and all of that anger, frustration, sadness––it all crumbles into a state of numbness. You are _sick_. Tired of this. 

‘I can’t allow that.’ You’re about to stand.

‘Dawn. Wait.’

You stop.

‘Where is he? Where is Cyrus?’

You frown at her. ‘Why?’

‘Fine: if you can’t imagine the idea of me being released, why not think who’s _really_ to blame here? I would never have thought about _any_ of this if it weren’t for Cyrus’s brilliance. It was _his_ idea. His plan. Oak provided me the basics, but him? He is the reason.’

Heat, red hot, burns in your abdomen. ‘You’re avoiding blame?’

‘No. But if you want justice, you know who’s really to blame. Don’t you?’ Grey smiles crookedly. ‘Dawn, who put you _through_ all of this? Who made you walk into that Distortion World? Who made you face the Devil? Who made you into the trainer you are?’ She pauses. Cocks a brow. ‘In fact, who _groomed_ you into the trainer you are today? You really want your justice? There was Cyrus, but also your Champion. They _both_ made you into what you are now.’

Every element of you _rejects_ her spite, and you feel a sudden rush to grab the chair and _throw_ it at her. 

But all sense of humour has disappeared. For the first time, Grey is _serious_ ; she means what she’s saying, and as much as you _cannot_ imagine what she’s implying, you can’t deny it. If it weren’t for Team Galactic, you wouldn’t be who you are right now. You wouldn’t be considered Sinnoh’s heroine; nothing _close_ to it.

Of course, Team Galactic wouldn’t have run into your path if it weren’t for Cynthia. Who took you under your wing from the very start.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, but the fact it _hurts_ at all is reason enough. 

You sink into your seat. Grey leans over the table. ‘Dawn? Listen to me: give me Cyrus, and I’ll tell you everything.’

‘Why do you want him?’

‘That’s not a part of the deal. You let out your anger on the person who deserves it, and I’ll let out my anger to the man who groomed me as well. We are _victims_ , Dawn. We were once trapped infants, looking up to older, more superior trainers and they _manipulated_ us. We would not be here, _wrecked_ , if it were not for them.’

You look up at Grey, and hate her.

‘God, you are an image. What she has _done_ to you.’

‘She has done nothing.’ You stand. ‘You are wrong. You are so very wrong.’

Grey’s expression hardens. ‘So be it. Don’t believe me. But the moment you leave those doors, you’ll realise. It will all sink in. And when it does, then you’ll understand why I want to see Cyrus. I shall tell you everything afterwards.’

The officer has come closer; you can feel his eyes on your back, but all you can focus on is Grey. And you see yourself in her. Ambitious, innocent and wanting to be the best. Crawling behind the one man she looked up to. 

Is that what you are?

Carved into a stone cold warrior. For somebody else’s gain.

No wonder the kiss doesn’t escape your frazzled mind. 

You turn away, don’t wait for the officer, and leave the room. A door opens nearby and you hear Rowan call out to you, but you can’t _face_ him right now. 

Grey’s word sink into your mind and, as the woman predicted, they become engrained.

 

 

The Elite Four building is familiar, although you haven’t visited in years. One Elite Four member, Flint, is the first to identity you, and he comes running over, grinning ear-to-ear. Naturally his first assumption is that you wish to battle, but, and you word this carefully, you tell him it is Cynthia you want to see.

To your relief, he doesn’t think anything of it; your voice has not betrayed you, and he escorts you to the Champion’s office. At the door, he leaves you be, and you’re given a moment to think through what you want to say. 

But hundreds of words, demands, questions, _screams_ , fill your chest and you can’t breathe. You can’t pinpoint what you’re feeling; if you're gullible to take on what Grey said, but there is no _falsity in it_. Isn’t her own prediction what you have considered all along?

You’ve always known, always felt that way, even when Cynthia lost to you, and took her defeat proudly.

You don’t know what to think. 

But you enter the room, anyway. It doesn’t surprise you that Cynthia is busy studying, several books and papers scattered across her desk. However, she is surprised to see you. ‘Shouldn’t you still be at the hospital?’

You close the door, and press your back against it. 

Cynthia’s face turns puzzled, and she stands up. ‘Dawn? What are you doing here?’

‘I came to see you.’ Now, your voice betrays you; it shakes slightly and there’s an _edge_. Cynthia registers it as well. The puzzlement transforms into curiosity, and you wonder if it’s at all possible to make this woman angry. You could throw insult after insult, and she would probably still look at you the exact same way. ‘I want to–– _talk_.’

She blinks, and shrugs lightly. ‘Go ahead.’

You’re still gripping the door handle. ‘Why did you choose me?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘After I defeated the second Gym Leader, you approached me. Deliberately.’

‘Deliberately? Not at all.’ Cynthia opens her mouth to speak again, stops, and then smiles. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

‘My friend, Barry. He was more advanced than I was; he could have defeated Team Galactic easily. In fact, there were hundreds of trainers who had started around the same time as I, but you picked me. Out of the lot, you picked me.’

‘I did. You had a gift.’

‘Did you know what would happen? When you picked me, did you… did you make it so that I would become what I am now?’

The curiosity falls. Sympathy appears, and then puzzlement. All mixed into a clumsy, yet tender mess. ‘What have you become, pray tell?’

‘I don’t know,’ you confess. 

Your throat narrows, and it’s exactly how it felt when you battled her the first time; how she destroyed you with relative ease. You feel small, embarrassed, not good enough. 

‘I don’t know what I have become. All I know is that I can’t sleep anymore. I am riddled with nightmares, and constantly plagued by the sight of that creature you made me face. I have lost my own Pokemon, I disappeared from my home for years. I don’t know who I have become, but certainly not the person I was when I left Twinleaf at fourteen.’

Cynthia watches, and it is impossible to know what she is thinking. 

You’re frustrated; no, more than frustrated. Livid. _Livid_. ‘I was blind in my admiration for you, I didn’t really care what you put me through. As long as you saw me.’

‘And I am to blame?’

‘You kissed me when I had been knocked down. You act as if it never happened.’ Now her expression changes. Now you see something _close_ to anger, but it’s not quite that. You might even consider the emotion as betrayal if you weren’t so absorbed in your own chaos. ‘I came to you to help me. To help me understand.’

‘Dawn––’

‘I didn’t want to think she was right, but maybe you are like him.’ You stop. Whisper: ‘I don’t know.’ Because what does it matter if you knew? You can’t form what you’re feeling into words, and you’re aware that the comradeship you both shared has been torn. 

She looks at you in a way which squeezes your heart, and it isn’t fair. Not fair. It is not fair that you have to suffer. 

It was never fair.

Tears sting your eyes and it all makes sense. Why you’re like this, why you feel the way you do, and it rips your insides apart. 

Opening the door, you walk away––perhaps cowardly––and force yourself not to cry.

It isn’t worth the pain.

 

 

But you cry when you’re out of sight; cannot be heard. Not weeping, but just sobbing. Your eyes leak with tears, and you have to cover your mouth from not letting out a wail. As you bustle between civilians and proceed for the nearest Pokemon Centre, you wipe your eyes with your sleeves, and pretend there’s nothing wrong.

Fuck. When is there _ever_ nothing wrong?

You send in your Pokemon for treatment; they’re not harmed necessarily, but you want them treated regardless. The nurse assures you that they will be given the best hospitality for the evening and you are free to collect them in the morning. A room is given to you, and you don’t waste a further second in public eye.

Pokemon gone, you sit on the edge of the bed, and stare at the wall.

They say loneliness is empty. An empty sensation.

To you, it’s _heavy_. Full of agony. You have never felt so weighed down in your life. 

 

 

Window open, you seat yourself on the window ledge, and gaze out. Civilians are wide awake and excited at night. Some returning home, some stepping out with plans. Pokemon either fly by, or scurry past; you’re not noticed. You’re invisible again, and you wish you felt relieved. The last time you felt invisible was when you disappeared from Sinnoh.

You think about that. 

Running away again. Maybe returning to Sinnoh was a bad idea, because, the whole while, all you’ve endured is a grim reminder of the past.

Giratina’s face flashes in your mind, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

Then there’s Dialga, Palkia; those vicious, godly creatures who you’ve captured, stored safely in your PC. If you wanted, you could withdraw them, release them, but then what? Would they hunt after you? Grab you in your sleep––

You stiffen. A chill coils itself around your spine.

_Let me out. Let me out_.

If you could go back, would you change it all? Would you refuse your first Pokemon, your Chimchar, your best friend, and _refuse_? Would you walk away from the nightmare of becoming a trainer? Would you search for a new life, a better one; one far away from everything?

You imagine this other self. This pretty, delicate Dawn whose face does not reflect the scars of the earth. 

A Dawn, much younger than yourself, whose years has not aged her so terribly.

Would you go back?

_Let me out of my Hell._

You hear a light tap, and look out of the window, thinking the noise came from outside. Then you hear it again, louder, and look over to the door.

Instinctively you think it bad news. In fact, your first thought is Cyrus. Has he discovered your whereabouts and decided to finish you off once and for all? You frown. No. No, he wouldn’t do that. Certainly not now.

Nevertheless, you remain cautious when you approach the door. 

A gasp nearly passes your lips. Your heart is stopped, and you feel it _tighten_. Your visitor is the last person you expected to see. 

Cynthia looks resigned. As if since you approached her, she has fallen into a state of exhaustion, and it shows in her eyes. ‘I don’t mean to disturb you. I had to ask around to know where you were staying this evening. The nurses here were kind enough to inform me.’

You open the door a little more, but not enough for her to see you entirely. You’re still on your guard, and she’s aware.

It kind of hurts; the two of you, that you have to be this way.

‘May I come in?’

You can’t refuse her. As much as that would make things _so much_ easier. You leave the door ajar, and walk further into the room so she can enter. Cynthia is quiet as she closes the door, but she remains where she entered; not at all daring to infect your territory.

Holding your wrist, you wait. Now it is her time to spill it all out, and you actually want her to. To throw everything out into the open so you can both depart from each other in peace. You realise your innocence in that thought, and nearly scowl.

‘It wasn’t my intention. Not at first.’

You look at her properly. 

‘When I first met you, I never intended for any of this to occur. If you want me to be perfectly honest, I didn’t really know how far you would go. Not until later, much later, when Team Galactic start to cause problems; when I realised they were sincere about their plans.’

You inhale. Hold your breath.

‘I didn’t consider the repercussions. Out of all the trainers I knew, you were the best. You not only had a strong and fit party, but you were young. You had a different idea about everything. You weren’t damaged from experience, and I knew you would go about ridding Galactic without question. You thought it was the right thing to do, so you did it––quietly.’

Even if you _could_ speak, you wouldn’t know what to say. So you just stand there. 

‘I walked into the Distortion Wold with you, but I let you lead. I, too, was disturbed. And yes, perhaps I should have stopped Cyrus myself. But, compared to you, I was, well… In that moment, I was small in comparison. I was scared, and you weren’t.’

Nothing she says has an impact; you expect each word, and it only makes it harder. 

Worse.

‘I never meant to hurt you. Please know that.’

Cyrus’s words echo in your head: ‘ _You sound like her, you know? She’s good at speaking confidently; good at fooling you. But, really, inside––she’s fragile. Insecure and scared…_ ’

‘If it’s any conciliation, I lost myself along the way as well. There was a long period in my life when I just _wasn’t_ myself.’

Your eyes sting again, tears threatening to break free; but this isn’t about you now. 

‘Were you the orphan Rowan took in?’

Time halts, and you can feel her presence suddenly. Burning and yet soft, as always. Your question is welcomed. 

‘I was _one_ orphan Rowan took in, yes.’

She’s trying. She came all this way to find you, to tell you and––

––she’s trying.

‘You are brilliant. I can only hope to achieve your level.’

Somehow, again, you’ve assumed too much; taken too much. You’ve thought too much, and you still are clueless as to where you stand. Whether you really think she used you, or if it is something more; something you couldn’t understand back then, but can, at least, comprehend at the age you are now. Because that feeling, that admiration, it still persists.

Jabbing at you over and over.

Your heart caves in, and you allow yourself to fall. 

When you approach her, as you begin to close the large gap you have created between yourselves, your pulse races. You meet her eyes and it’s not an effort. Not when you were young and untainted, looking up at her as if she were _beyond what you could ever have_. When you _were_ naive, when you _were_ young and small.

Because you look at her now, and age loses its meaning. She’s barely an inch taller; you realise the years which have passed, how heavy and tiring they have been. What they have done to you _both_ , not just yourself. 

Yes, you faced Giratina, the League, you faced horror, but so did she.

You don’t feel so alone. 

Not in its most purest sense.

You may be lonely, but, at least, you are lonely with her.

Either she trusts you entirely, or she doesn’t have energy left in her to stay cautious. Concerned. She lets you come closer, until she’s too close, too near, and you could hurt her if you wished. She has allowed herself to be open and vulnerable against you, but you don’t raise your fist, and there is not the slightest negative desire possessing you.

Nothing like that.

‘I wanted to get away from everything––’ you stop. Catch your breath, ‘––but when I am apart from you, everything is all I can think about.’

She hesitates. 

Reaches out to you, and her palm is gentle against your cheek. And then she’s kissing you. And it’s not just one kiss, not just two kisses; not a kiss to heal the pain. She kisses you for you, kisses you so softly, her lips grazing over yours, your breath released in a hot rush across her skin. 

You fall into her slightly, and press your mouth harder to hers. You are dazed, dizzied; and your fingers curl into her jacket, in fear you might actually drop. It is shy, timid; how you both kiss. The seconds count, and your senses are overwhelmed by her.

You _are_ overwhelmed, and your body struggles; it trembles and she can feel you shaking. 

As you expect, she parts from you, worried she might have _possibly_ done something, but your words are drowned––you are suffocating in her––and so you press your lips to hers again. Heat rises in your cheeks, your limbs, your body, and you can feel her hand brushing a little above your chest. Kissing her still, you find her hand, lowering it just slightly.

It is her touch alone which sends a shock through your body. You gasp against her mouth, her hand tender on your breast, and you start to become undone. You’ve forgotten the room you’re in, the floor in which you stand on; you forget. And your mind pounds, and your hands are still shaking, and she holds you by the waist to steady you. 

She allows you to strip apart your beaten, dented armoury; she allows you to uncover the history dragged into your flesh. Your scarred back and stomach, burnt and incapable of healing. The damage thrown onto you, and she is a mirror: what you are precisely, only slightly older. Both of you victim to the years of a reluctant trainer. 

One of you––you’re not sure who––is guided to the bed, and it’s all effortless and a daze and _so delayed_ ; she kisses the corner of your mouth, your neck, and you sink into the sheets, and it’s all blinding and wonderful and terrifying and perfect. 

She gives you a release; the sort of release which has you writhing, covering your mouth, and arching your back. You gasp out, trembling and riddled with emotion and this wonderful, wonderful rush of bliss she gives you––and you take it; let it hold you, and you moan, gripping and breathless, and, afterwards, you fall back, and reach for her.

Then you kiss her, kiss her, and then you kiss her.

A shadow of what you are; seamless.

 


	6. 06

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> So, with this chapter, I wanted to analyse both Dawn and Cynthia's histories (the latter more so). There's not much drama or action in this chapter. I felt it was about time these two had some peace.
> 
> Please do share your thoughts with me! As always, I appreciate any kudos and/or comments sent my way.
> 
> Until next time!

If you were told at fourteen that things would end this way, you wouldn’t have believed it. To be precise, if somebody told you that you would have defeated The Elite Four, you wouldn’t have believed a word. Because that was the ambition people like Barry had; you, on the other hand, were not considered so highly. 

Yet as the days passed, the years progressed, the more opportune that glory seemed to be. By the time you achieved your final badge, it was already too late. 

All choice was taken from you.

Your fate determined, you went on ahead, leaving your best friend behind.

 

 

_Sometimes, you’re lonely, and you think too much. The sort of thoughts which keep you awake. For some reason, it’s not really Pokemon that keep you up at night; it’s more personal. You worry about your mother, about Barry; you worry about your own party. And you worry about the next step. What comes next. Who comes next. When will next even arrive._

_Sometimes, you’re lonely, and the fire you’ve set up is your only company._

_You are sixteen. Training has lost its thrill. When it was thrilling, you were younger; inexperienced. You had only read about those infamous trainers, the ones only whispered in legends. As children, you and Barry would look through storybooks and dazzle at the amazing adventures. Each time, Barry promised you that he and you would become like that: legends._

_Bruised, bloody and suffering broken bones, you’re not entirely sure if becoming a legend is as romantic as it sounds._

_The nearest Pokemon Centre is miles ahead. You’ve ran out of potions, and the last Pokemon in your party is your Monferno, but even your closest party member can barely stand. It is too weak to defend you, so you must face the wilderness alone._

_At night, that is terrifying._

_Sometimes, you’re lonely, and you can hear wild Pokemon feasting on meat. You can hear them growling, watching your every move. Sometimes, you’re lonely, and when it all gets a bit overwhelming, you start to cry. Not loudly. But heavily. Your hug your knees, and drop your head into your arms. And cry. You cry until you’re sore. Cry until your eyes are sore, your lungs are screaming, and all you can do is fall to the aside, and collapse._

 

 

You realise that the last time you slept this well, you were thirteen years old.

Over ten years ago. Before you were given your first Pokemon. When you _were_ innocent, oblivious and blissfully unaware. You haven’t been able to sleep since, either too afraid or simply too broken. You have never been given the luxury to relax.

And then she kisses you, and you kiss her, and then you fall asleep.

Just like that.

There’s not really much else to it. Perhaps all of your exhaustion has finally slipped through, or perhaps it’s something more: perhaps it’s feeling safe. _Knowing_ that you are safe. Or, perhaps it is knowing that nothing else shall happen next. That, finally, there _isn’t_ a next. You can simply stay in one place, at one time, and you shall not be demanded anything.

Of course, perfection does not arise easily.

You wake up abruptly at one point; you don’t know the time. Whether morning has arrived, or if it is still dawn, or if the evening still cradles you both. But you wake up regardless, and maybe it’s instinct; this engrained worry. You must always be alert, you must always be awake; you must always dread the very worst.

One of many sacrifices a trainer vows to.

She’s not entirely awake herself, but she senses you stir; she knows you, so she tightens her hold around your waist and pulls you a little closer. You feel her warmth, how soft her body is against yours, and her scent is familiar––as it has been when you first met her. Fatigue instantly knocks, and your eyes droop, and you cling on.

You think about the orphaned girl Rowan spoke about, which feels months ago now. As you do, you feel her absently run her fingers through your hair, and it’s a blissful sensation; your mind erases any approaching concerns. The mattress feels as if it sinks you in, and then you’re dreaming again, pressed up against her.

There isn’t a next.

 

 

_Eventually your Monferno does faint, and, sheltering your Pokemon from further damage, you run for the nearest Pokemon Centre._

_It takes you over half a day._

_By the time you reach there, you’re starved, dehydrated and, due to being attacked by multiple Pokemon, you’re losing blood._

_Speedily, your Pokemon are taken; you are given water, food, a quick medical checkup. Despite several cuts, and a few broken bones, you’re fine. The nurse patches you up, and you sit in the waiting room. You look a mess; dirty and tired. And you feel disgusting; you feel cheap and worthless._

_A trainer, younger, sees you in the waiting room and he widens his eyes._

_You sympathise. That poor child has no idea what’s coming to him if he keeps going._

_No one notices or cares about the lone trainer in the corner of the room, except for one. She’s travelled here for business reasons; reasons you are not privy to, but she recognises you the moment she enters the Centre. And it’s that quick recognition which you find flattering. If not slightly endearing._

_Cynthia may have a reputation to maintain, but when it comes to looking out for young trainers, she doesn’t allow her ego to get in the way._

_Forgetting her previous errand, she walks over to where you’re seated, ‘Fancy meeting you here.’_

_You try to smile, but fail miserably. ‘I’m waiting for my Pokemon.’_

_‘There’s little to not point waiting here, Dawn. You need a bed to sleep on. You look exhausted.’_

_‘I’m fine.’_

_‘Well, I certainly admire your determination, but you can’t fool me. Come with me: I’ll pay for your room for the night.’_

_You widen your eyes. ‘No! I… I want to wait. I can’t sleep knowing my Pokemon are hurt.’_

_Immediately her expression softens, and then there’s a sort of relief in her eyes. ‘I understand.’ She sits beside you, and either you’re very cold, or sensitive, or both, but her warmth bounces off you. You even feel the urge to lean into her. ‘Then I shall wait with you.’_

_You look at her as if she’s mad. ‘Don’t you have other things to do?’_

_‘At this hour? Not at all. I was, originally, meant to meet somebody for a brief tournament, but I might make a pass.’ She smiles crookedly. ‘You’re much more fun to be around than they are, anyway!’_

_You suddenly feel very self-conscious, and decide to stare at the wall._

_‘Okay.’_

_It’s almost infuriating how nice she can be, but you feel touched instead._

_‘Have you eaten?’_

_‘I ate something a while back.’_

_‘Oh. You should eat.’_

_‘But I––’_

_‘Nurse?’ You shut your mouth when a nurse walks over to you both. ‘Please could you fetch some food for my friend here? She’s undernourished, and I fear she may collapse any second.’_

_‘Of course,’ the nurse smiles, hurrying away._

_You sigh heavily. There’s no point arguing. Cynthia moves towards you slightly and presses a hand to your back. You’re alert again. ‘It is very foolish for a trainer to wander around without any essentials for her, or her own Pokemon.’_

_‘I know,’ you mumble. ‘I underestimated how long it would take me to get here.’_

_‘It is hard to tell. I, too, had the same problem when I was a younger trainer.’ You raise a brow, and look at her. She’s smiling at you fondly. ‘You’ll get the hang of it. Here.’ She opens her bag and retrieves a small pouch of potions. ‘Use these wisely.’ Before you can protest, she pushes the pouch into your arms. ‘Also, there’s no rush. Don’t hurry off without a good night’s rest.’_

_You press the pouch to your chest. A good night’s rest? You’re not sure what that means anymore._

_The nurse returns, and offers you several packets of food and drink. You’re mute, and have no energy to respond; Cynthia thanks her, before turning her attention back to you. ‘Hey, you want to know a secret trick into Pokemon training?’_

_Your attention spikes––noticeably._

_She grins and slides the food towards you. ‘Eating. Your blood sugar level has dropped. Eat; trust me, you’ll feel better.’ After a short pause, you reach over and take a packet._

_Just as you do, another nurse comes forward. ‘Are you Dawn? Good news: your Pokemon are healed up and resting. You can pick them up in the morning.’ Relief floods through you, and you watch her walk away. Thank God. Slumping your shoulders, you open the packet of food._

_‘See? Nothing at all to worry about.’ Cynthia stands to leave, and your heart jolts. Forgetting the food, you reach out and grab her wrist. Taken by surprise, she looks back at you. ‘Is something the matter?’_

_You instantly let go of her, and despite the heat rising in your cheeks, you ask, ‘Is it always this lonely?’_

_After a slight pause, Cynthia shakes her head. ‘Of course not. Sometimes it is, but most of the tine––I can’t think of anything_ less _lonely. In fact, between you and me, I get rather sick of the company.’ You smile. For the first time, you smile. ‘Training is a hard career to pursue; that’s why so little succeed. But you’re tough; you can take it.’ She exhales. ‘Listen: training is only lonely if you make it lonely.’_

_You blink. Lower your gaze._

_‘Pokemon aren’t just there to defend you. They are your friends. They stop you from becoming lonely.’_

_It’s the exhaustion, you convince yourself while wiping away a tear. You’re tired and emotionally overwhelmed._

_‘Dawn?’_

_You look up at her._

_‘You’re going the right way. Don’t turn back when you’re so close.’_

 

 

When you wake up––properly––there is an empty space beside you, and a chill snaps. You dare open your eyes, certain everything might have possibly been a dream, but it isn’t. She hasn’t left you. As always, she has stayed. Only to have risen earlier. She’s dressed, seated at the window ledge you vacated the previous night. There is a book in her lap, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

The morning is cold, but the sunlight is warm. Window open, you can hear life down below, and yet, inside the room, it’s so settling and calm. Pulling at the sheets slightly, she hears you, and the book is forgotten about. She watches you with this familiar, yet unique smile––it’s almost dreamy, but still possessing that warmth; a smile for you.

You squint, and rub your eye with the heel of your palm. ‘I didn’t know you wore glasses.’

‘Hm?’ Realisation dawns. ‘Oh.’ She takes them off. ‘Long-sighted.’ 

‘What time is it?’

‘A little past nine. Why? Do you have a prior engagement?’

She’s teasing. You chortle. ‘No.’ Sitting upright, the previous day comes flooding back. From Rowan meeting you at the hospital, to Grey manipulating you and then Cynthia arriving at your door. You swallow, and immediately want to lie back in bed. 

‘Dawn?’

You divert your attention back to Cynthia, and it takes your breath. Not necessarily the fact you slept with her; that this woman you’ve admired for so long has mutual feelings for you as well. It’s just the fact _she’s here_. 

There isn’t anything non-personal about this. It _is_ personal.

Nothing to do with training, Pokemon, Galactic, or anything of the sort. It’s entirely personal, and nothing has been personal for you in years. For the most part, it’s refreshing, but whatever else it is, you can’t quite pinpoint.

You don’t know how this is supposed to go; whether you should dress and continue as if nothing happened, or if this _does_ mean anything significant. Needless to say, you can only hope the latter. Christ, if it were the latter, you _certainly_ wouldn’t leave the bed. You’d happily retire from training for months if you could.

Closing her book, and placing her glasses atop, Cynthia walks over towards you. She sits on the side of the bed, and you’re astonished by the colour of her eyes. They are usually grey, but there’s always a tint of colour in them, be it from the room, the sky, or even her mood. Right now, they’re a blue-ish shade. Watery and bright.

Innocent. 

‘Are you all right?’

You blink. Bizarrely, you’re rather thrown by her question. ‘I think so…? I mean, this has never happened to me, so I don’t know what I ought to be feeling.’

She laughs softly. ‘There isn’t an _ought_ in this situation. I just, genuinely, wanted to know if you were all right.’

‘I am.’

It may as well been the hundredth time, because no matter how many times she kisses you, you’re left stumped. Startled, if not paralysed. She kisses you softly, a contrast to the kisses you both shared only a few hours ago, locked in each other’s arms. It’s interesting: to see her in both lights. And yet they’re both still very her.

‘Good: so am I.’ She takes your hand and squeezes. ‘I want to show you something.’

‘Okay.’

She pulls at you slightly, before letting go and proceeding to the window. You wrap a sheet around your body and follow. Cynthia places an arm around your hip, and points upwards into the blue, cloudless sky. 

Multiple colours, of reds, oranges, yellows, even greens, paint the sky. It seems to sparkle, and it isa permanent mark. Gorgeous.

‘Do you know the Pokemon which creates such a masterpiece?’

You know, but would rather she explain.

‘That is Ho-Oh. I saw it fly past while you were sleeping. A magical creature. It has to be one of my favourites.’ She pauses. ‘Legend has it that anybody who witnesses this great creature is promised eternal happiness.’

You smile faintly.

‘It’s a lonely one. Nobody really knows why it flies around so aimlessly. However, there have been countless stories of it appearing to trainers with a pure heart. In other words, this Pokemon is just in search of good company.’

‘What about the rainbow?’ You ask. ‘Does that have any significance?’

‘The colour of its feathers.’ She cranes her head to the side. ‘Not sure what it’s doing here; its original home is in the Johto region.’

You look at her. And have to wonder if this person is real.

It has been that way from the very start: you, wondering. You’ve been through Hell on your journey as a Pokemon Master, and you came out half damaged. 

Cynthia has undoubtedly gone through the same, so how is it possible for this woman to be _okay_? Not only that, but to possess this undying love for Pokemon, be it her own, or others. Who can still look at the world after its corruption and ugliness, and still allow it to leave her in awe.

Who finds those most simple decisions so complicated, and yet the most dangerous so black-and-white. It’s almost innocent; it _is_ innocent, how her kindness has no limits, even to those who detest her presence.

You’re bewildered. 

But, perhaps, that’s the point. Bewilderingly in love. 

You take several steps away from the window, until you’re seated on the bed again. Cynthia doesn’t follow, but watches you with a little concern. You finally allow your bewilderment to reveal itself, and it’s a challenge at first.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘For approaching you; for being rude to you. Before.’

Her eyes drift to the right for the moment, and then back at you. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for. You were upset. There was certainly a misunderstanding, but I like to believe we’ve overcome any troubles we may have had.’

You pull the sheet over you tighter. ‘Can you tell me what you were like? When you were training? And, can you tell me how you were able to do all of that, knowing that your parents died the way they did?’ Murdered, killed, by the creatures she apparently loves so dearly. ‘I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just need to understand. How can you live with that?’

It’s a struggle, to keep eye contact. Because you have asked so much of her, and she has asked nothing of you. There’s hesitance, and a moment of withdrawal, but this is Cynthia: she has a big heart, with many stories to tell; and maybe she’s ready to tell you this one.

Maybe.

‘I don’t always. I am better than I was, though.’

She sits next to you. 

‘It’s quite simple really.’ She smiles at you, but it disappears quickly. Cynthia shrugs. ‘Life is short. I didn’t want to spend it feeling negatively about the world around me. How can I live happily when I’m filled with hatred? I know what happens to people who live that way. Who endure vengeance their whole life, who want to do nothing but spread their own pain. They want to make other lives miserable, simply because they, themselves, have been miserable.’

You drop your eyes to her lips, and are tempted to kiss them.

‘I like making people happy. So, I ignore the bad stuff. I lost my family when I was a little girl, but I wouldn’t ever use their deaths to excuse myself from doing anything cruel.’

That has always been clear to you: her intentions, why she behaves the way she does, but you’ve never known the real story behind it. 

‘May I ask?’

You raise your brows, and nod.

‘What inspired you to begin your training? I hear you mother was famous at Hearthome for her countless wins at the Contest Hall.’

‘Oh.’ You snort. ‘She enjoys reminding me about that.’

‘Not what inspired you?’

You shake your head.

‘What of your father?’

‘I never knew him… I never think about him. At all. The last time I asked about him I was ten. But whenever I did ask, my mother would always quickly change topic. She didn’t like him very much––so I stopped thinking about him.’

Cynthia says nothing.

‘I don’t think anything necessarily _inspired_ me. It just seemed to be the only opportunity available at the time.’

‘I’m glad it was.’

‘Mm. Yeah. Me too.’ 

And, truthfully, you _are_ glad. Because you might have ended up worse for wear by the end, but, along the way, you met good people, developed as a person; all-around, you, _yourself_ ––you became better. You became _you_. 

There were those people along the way who helped fit the pieces together; who let you grow.

And heal afterwards.

‘I met Grey yesterday. She wanted me to bring Cyrus to her, and then she would reveal where her remaining labs are located. Before she––’ _tried to convince me I should hate you, that you were the reason I’m here,_ ‘––Before she tricked me.’ You meet her eyes again, and she’s frowning now. Slightly puzzled. ‘She said some things to me. Let’s just say some of those things are why I was, initially, upset with you. And that’s why I’m sorry. Because I know you’re the last person who would go out of their way in order to hurt somebody.’

‘What are going to do next?’

‘I don’t know.’ You run a hand through your hair. ‘I don’t want to think about the next.’

‘Can I ask? What did she say?’

You can’t _say_. Hell, you can barely _think_. It hurts. It hurts knowing that you _were_ angry at her, that you did feel hatred towards her, if only for a few short hours. That you were so easily convinced that yes, you were manipulated, you were talked into danger; that you were carved into a weapon, and used selfishly by your mentor.

When you look at her now, you can’t quite believe you even entertained the thought.

And yet, you almost _can_.

She is kind, she is selfless, she is wonderful and, somehow, that is what makes her so innocent. She may not hurt you _directly_ , but that innocence and unconditional joy in what she does––when she thinks she is only doing good for you, she is actually doing the worst.

You cannot blame her for that.

Kindness is all she depends on; what has pushed her to here, so you cannot blame her for that.

You cannot blame her for watching your back when no one else would; when no one else would notice. 

‘Lies,’ you exhale. You turn to face her, ‘She said lies.’

Reaching for her, you kiss her lips, and have her there. She doesn’t refuse you, and you kiss her a little deeper, a little harder, straddling her lap. It is soft, gentle, and your kisses confess the rest. She pulls slightly at the sheet you’re bound in, and you both part for a moment.

If you could spend the rest of your life this way, then you would be happy.

Indefinitely. 

 

 

_‘How does it feel?’ Barry asks you, opening the first bottle of champagne of the night. ‘Being Pokemon Champion and all of that? I’m crazy jealous of you, by the way, but seriously: how does it feel? Bet you feel real good about yourself, right?’_

_The cork pops out, and Barry eagerly pours you two glasses._

_‘Yeah, I feel good.’_

_Your glasses clink._

_‘Good?’ He downs the champagne in one. ‘Really? Just good? Dawn, I’d be over the moon! You defeated the Champion of Sinnoh; you literally took her place in the Elite.’_

_She wanted you to feel that way as well: overjoyed. Excited. Damn proud of yourself._

_But all you can think about is––that’s it. It’s over._

_This didn’t turn out to be the ending you wanted._

_You weren’t after the League. After all this time, there was something––someone––you sought instead._

_Glory isn’t always in a title._

_You managed to fall in love with someone you thought would never love you back._

_‘I’m going to travel.’_

_Barry chokes on his next glass of champagne. ‘You’re gonna what?’_

_‘Travel.’ You place your glass down. ‘Travel to other regions.’ Get away from here. Far away. And maybe you’ll be gone for months, years even; as long as you’re away from Sinnoh, this place which has thrusted so much nightmare, so much horror, in your path._

_Far away from all of that._

_Far away from her._

_A chance to remedy yourself._

 

 

So, while you kiss her, hold her, need her close, you whisper against her lips that you left partly because of her.

Because of everything else.

_Yet_ ––

‘I think the only reason I came back, was to be with you.’


	7. 07

Collecting your Pokemon from the nurse, you release each of them to make sure they’re healthy and stable, before returning them to their comfort. It is weird that less than twelve hours ago, you had been in a deep state of misery; puzzled over where you stand, and whether those you considered friends really _were_ friends.

While you have reconciled most of your troubles––in ways you never would have imagined––issues still lie. It still remains your goal to discover where the rest of Grey’s labs are located, but she isn’t going to admit to anything. Not until she has Cyrus, for whatever reason that might be. Either way, you will get her talking. 

A little over an hour ago, Cynthia had to depart from you as she was required back at the Pokemon League. There are rumours of a potential competitor, and being as passionate as she is, she could not refuse.

Plenty of times the two of you have seperated and then bumped into each other again. Only now, her absence hurts.

Leaving the Pokemon Centre, you’re half distracted and you don’t notice the older gentleman seated on a bench close by. You’re busy thinking about the previous evening, and the morning afterwards. The picture Ho-Oh left behind, Cynthia’s sweet kisses, how she held you when the nightmares started to prey on your mind.

It all has you dumbfounded; you’re flustered at the memory.

Yet the moment you see Cyrus on the bench, the image of her disappears immediately. He is watching you, leaning back, a strange smile on his face. Cyrus doesn’t smile, though, so the face he pulls is entirely illegible. 

‘How awful it is: that, after all this time, you still breathe.’

Stopping in your tracks, you keep an eye on him. If he challenges you, then you’re ready. 

‘I was hoping you might have _died_.’

Turning to face him properly, you walk over to where he sits, and look down at him. ‘You wouldn’t have come looking for me without a reason. Unless you’re truly that bored.’

He chuckles dryly. Bitter and old. ’I am bored. So _very_ bored. Life is _aimless_ now. I have nothing left to lose, so, yes: I am truly that bored.’

‘Why did you save my life?’

Not only does his face twitch, but so does his entire body. His eyes darken and he glares. ‘I did no such thing. You must be dumber than I originally thought. You were merely in my way. Not to mention, you were losing miserably. I had to step in.’

You’re unconvinced. Frowning, you remain standing.

If he _has_ come to see you, he’ll eventually break. His motives will become clear soon enough.

Fortunately, that doesn’t take long. Because he rises to his feet and smiles coldly. ‘Then your _hero_ came along; she did the saving.’ Something snaps inside you; you do not like the way he refers to her. ‘I dare to imagine how you _thanked_ her––’

‘Fine. Well, if there is nothing, then I shall leave.’ You’re about to swivel around, but he grabs your shoulder. Hard.

‘Don’t walk away from me.’ His face is ugly. Bony and pale. You have seen worse; you aren’t afraid. Not of a pathetic man. ‘What has that crazed woman revealed to you? Anything in regards to her work, or has she kept her mouth shut?’

‘I’m glad you asked,’ you scowl. ‘She has been requesting your presence.’

‘Has she? I suppose it is safe to assume you’re going to get something out of this.’

‘Yes.’ He chuckles, shaking his head. You don’t let down your guard. ‘You come with me, and I’ll take you to her. Once she has you, then she’ll tell me everything that I need to know.’

Cyrus guffaws. His hand slips off your shoulder. ‘Gladly. Why not?’

‘You seem oddly compliant.’

He smirks. Again, it’s dead. But his eyes glimmer with a distant enthusiasm. ‘Lead the way. I’ll trail on behind––as always.’ A shiver travels up your spine at that passing remark. 

But you guide him anyway. It is unnerving, having his eyes watch your back; only less than a metre behind you. Cyrus is a chilling creature. And while he may be a lost man now, that doesn’t mean he can’t crush your neck between his hands.

It wouldn’t take much. To grab you and throttle you to death.

Even so, you wouldn’t back down without a fight.

However, despite your paranoia, he doesn’t attack. In fact, he remains cooperative, to the point where it is suspicious. 

You call in ahead, and by the time you both arrive at the police station, Grey has been put into the same interrogation room. Now that Rowan is not with you, there is some difficulty in trying to charm the officers. They recognise Cyrus, of course, but, fortunately, he is no longer on the wanted list, and so they don’t refuse him access.

Only if you go in with him.

That, you are happy with. The last thing you want to do is leave Cyrus unaccompanied. 

He still wears that strange smile. He might as well have taken a drug to make him delirious; he appears oblivious to everything that is going on around him. When both of you enter the interrogation room, Grey smiles, first at you, then at Cyrus.

‘Ah. You saw sense, finally.’

You open your mouth to speak, but Cyrus cuts through. His voice has deepened significantly. ‘Let us make this one quick.’

Grey’s expression hardens. ‘Very well.’ Both you and Cyrus sit down opposite her. You note the handcuffs, the fact she cannot escape, and yet, you’re uneasy. You glance between Cyrus and Grey while they communicate. ‘Do you remember Charon?’

Cyrus snorts. ‘Reluctantly.’

‘I agree: he wasn’t the most inspiring of people, but he did have grand ideas. Your favourites, Mars and Jupiter, were willing to work for him after you left, but Charon isn’t a leader. This one here––’ she grins at you, ‘––made sure of that.’ 

‘Get to the point.’

‘Work with me, Cyrus. Our ideas and Charon’s combined? We could bring Galactic back to full force, but only better. More supreme.’

You stand to your feet. ‘I did not bring Cyrus all the way here for you to talk rubbish.’

‘Oh, Dawn. I was about to offer you a wild job opportunity as well. You see, for my plans to go ahead, I require a bodyguard. No, not just a bodyguard––I need a soldier. Somebody willing to guard me while I produce my works. Who can barricade the labs. With your calibre and your beautiful Pokemon, you could achieve so much––let me help you achieve that.’

It’s a very simple decision to make. You even laugh, it’s that easy. ‘I think you’ve been left alone for too long; you’ve let common sense run off without you. I’m not joining you. Ever.’

Grey sniggers. ‘The money.’ Now she looks at Cyrus. ‘A fortune. Millions. People will worship us. We will become Gods. Cyrus, join me.’ She exhales. ‘And we can get rid of this little _muffin_ while we’re at it.’

Cyrus looks up at you, raising a brow. You gape at him. No, he wouldn’t!

Inhaling sharply, you glare over at Grey. ‘And the labs? You were going to tell me where they were!’

‘Yeah.’ Grey clears her throat. ‘There aren’t any labs, Dawn. I made it all up. My research is all tucked up away––’ she taps her head, ‘––in here.’

The door opens from behind, and two police officers step inside. ‘Both of you, out. This discussion is finished.’

Grey grins. ‘True: it has just finished.’ She glances at Cyrus; at you. ‘ _Gods_.’

Then Cyrus stands as well, and you look at him, expecting him to leave. You _hope_ he leaves, but then he looks at you as well, and for the first time, you see hesitance. He’s thinking, and when Cyrus is thinking, you know that is never a positive sign.

Red light flashes the room, and an ear-splitting roar causes you to nearly drop to your knees.

A huge, elegant and powerful pocket monster lunges for the two police officers. Its claws dig deep into their flesh, and, before you’re able to see properly again, it comes right at you. Instinctively you reach for Infernape, releasing it from its Pokeball. Immediately your Infernape jumps at the other Pokemon and tries to hit it.

But a storm of fire is sent in its direction. Infernape screams and thuds at your feet. 

Then you see the Pokemon properly.

‘I’m sorry, Dawn,’ Cyrus says. ‘It was an offer I could not refuse. Entei, destroy the building: get us out of here.’

Entei. You have only heard about this Pokemon in Legends!

Heart in your mouth, you reach for your next Pokemon. Cyrus grabs you first, and you see Grey smirking out of the corner of your eye when Cyrus shoves you into the wall. What happens next causes your skin to singe, and your eyes to water. Brick tumbles around you, and you hear voices, wails, and the smell of smoke enters your nostrils.

Falling to the floor, you grab Infernape’s paw, and hide your face. The building is knocked down around you, and yet you are untouched. It doesn’t take long. Once the roof is cleared and the walls are demolished, you’re able to look up.

Dust causes you to cough and splutter. You blink twice, and try to regain sight.

Cyrus is still where he originally was. Grey has managed to free herself from the handcuffs, and you witness the damage. Slowly standing to your feet, it feels as if the world has tumbled around you. Civilians stare at the mess, and once laying eyes on Entei, they yell out and flee. Just like that, Cyrus regains his authority again and you want to be sick.

This is your doing.

‘We’ll be off!’ Grey exclaims chirpily. ‘We have everything we need. Nothing else to do here.’

Anger boils within your belly. You pull at the scruff of her collar before she can disappear. You underestimate your strength, because, somehow, you manage to push the woman onto the brick. She knocks her head against the hard surface.

You grab your next Pokeball.

‘I’m not letting you go anywhere.’

Entei growls only a few inches from you. You can feel its wrath, and your heart thuds heavily. You don’t dare look at the thing. Grey rubs the back of her head, sneering, but it is Cyrus who steps forward. He looks at you calmly, like he did the first time you both met, and you just wish, then and there, you had never met this devil.

You wish he was never born.

‘How about we finally end this? One last battle.’

You hate him. You _hate_ him. ‘Haven’t you learnt anything yet? You’re weak.’

His upper lip twitches. ‘I have caught one of the most powerful Pokemon in the world. Your silly monkey stands no chance.’

‘The power of a Pokemon weighs nothing in comparison to the bond both a trainer and Pokemon share. If your Entei feels nothing for you, then it is simply inferior.’

‘Would you like to put that to the test?’

‘I would love to.’

Grey scrambles to her feet. Blood trickles down the back of her neck from where she was knocked. ‘Let’s put you against the both of us––see who’s inferior then.’ As if they’ve shared silent communication, Cyrus passes over his own Pokeball towards her. 

Irritated, you hold your ground. ‘Fine: if it takes two of you to get past me, then so be it.’

‘Cocky.’ Grey throws Cyrus’ Pokeball up in the air. From within escapes his Houndoom. In person, you’ve never liked the look of these things, but you maintain your composure. Right now, there isn’t time to endure fear. 

You release your Garchomp. Today, it is cooperative, and registers the significance of this battle. Smoke huffs out of its nostrils, and it readies itself. Cyrus has a sort of fondness in his eyes, and you never thought at the age you are now that a Pokemon battle would scare you. Not like this. Not to the point where you’re trying not to shiver.

‘Let us begin then,’ Cyrus says. ‘See how pathetic your little friends are––’

A beam of ice shoots past your ear, and stabs Houndoom straight in the belly. The Pokemon is swooped off its feet and sent into the ground, a nasty bruise across its skin. Growling, the Houndoom returns to its original spot, although damaged.

‘What the––?’ Cyrus looks over at the sudden attack. His face falls. ‘You cheat.’

‘You did say we had begun.’ Is there ever a time you’re not just _overjoyed_ to hear that voice? Peering over your shoulder, you pull a smile––half relieved, half grateful. Half everything else. Cynthia walks over to stand with you, her Milotic levitating a few inches ahead. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did you need a moment?’

‘Not at all. Entei, use Eruption.’

The earth beneath your feet starts to shake. Grey widens her eyes, and mirrors your surprise when the rock beneath Entei explodes like a volcano. A blast of flame and rock engulf Milotic in one,and it takes a good few seconds for the fire to vanish.

Shocked, you find the Milotic is still alive, but, despite being a water-type, it has been severely wounded.

‘What was that you said about being inferior?’ Cyrus smirks.

Livid, you point at the Houndoom. ‘Garchomp, Earthquake!’

Cyrus’s smirk drops.

‘Surf,’ Cynthia commands calmly.

Both of your Pokemon attack simultaneously, and it’s a beautiful performance. The ground cracks, splitting at Houndoom’s paws, and Entei is not only struck by the quake as well, but also the massive gush of water plummeted its way.

Grey has gone quiet, amazed. You don’t waste a second. ‘Crunch!’

Your dragon-type is obedient and its teeth dig into the Houndoom’s thick flesh. It wails out and collapses, unconscious.

‘Forget about it!’ Cyrus orders Grey. ‘Entei, Fire Blast! Finish her Milotic off!’

‘Catch me if you can! Milotic, Ice Beam.’

Now their powers really are put to the test. Whether your logic is sound is still questionable, because when the ice and fire collide together, you watch in anticipation as to which move is going to triumph. Milotic is certainly pushed under the strain, but it has a good trainer, and it remains loyal, trying its hardest to maintain its Ice Beam.

The Entei, however, is weak. Its muscles tense under the weight of the fire and ice. Cyrus yells out,desperate, eyes wide, and brimming with emotion and agony––but the fire is extinguished, the Entei is hit, and the ice not only leaves it unconscious, but encases it in a cube of frozen water.

Cyrus has lost.

‘No,’ he whispers. ‘No. You, you, _you_!’ He storms past his Pokemon, and you think he’s about to grab for you, but you gasp when his hands nearly come around Cynthia’s neck. She’s agile, and dodges his grip, but he is stronger. Frustrated, Cyrus pulls at her collar, and shoves her towards him. ‘Why won’t you just let me _win_?’

‘Dragon Rush!’ The command escapes your lips before you realise.

Cyrus is thrown off his feet. The impact is horrifying. He is flung upwards at a tremendous height, and his body is swallowed by heat––

Too quickly for you to see, Cynthia releases her Togekiss and it swoops up to catch his fall.

However it is a fruitless attempt.

The move itself was enough.

You’re frozen. Terrified. You can’t believe what you have just done, and you can’t move. Your heart is pounding in your ears, and all you can think about is how his hands held her, how he spoke to her, how he tried to _throttle her_ , and then and then and then––

––he had to die.

Everything that happens next is a blur. You can hear somebody talking to you, can feel a hand on your shoulder, somebody pushing you back, but all you can picture is Cyrus’s dead body, and it nearly causes you to cry. Not because you’re mortified, or upset, but because you’re happy. You are _happy_ he is gone. Finally.

And then you’re pulled away from the scene. Officers take you further and further back, and you try to reach for Cynthia, but she’s not close enough, and then you’re shoved into the back of a vehicle and then–– _and then_ ––it all hits.

Death and all of his friends.

 

 

The Pokemon Centre is empty. You have been sitting in the same place for over two hours, immobilised. Trying to think over everything that has happened, whether it was all a dream; something horrible. Whether you’ll wake up, open your eyes, and there is sunlight pouring in through the open window. The picture of Ho-Oh, and Cynthia reading her book. You imagine all of that, and now, it all seems like fantasy.

_Let it be a lie_.

Your eyes catch sight of the PC.

The nurse is absent. The room is isolated. You don’t feel, don’t endure the sensation of your feet moving across the floor. Yet you reach your PC, turn it on, and withdraw the one Pokemon who has traumatised you all of these years.

Giratina is so small, so tiny, safely tucked in your palm.

Was this all Cyrus ever wanted? To hold this tiny creature in his hand? Was power all he ever craved? Lusted after?

You can see his face: bony and pale and pleading and desperate and _clawing_ at her.

His voice itches your ears, makes them sore, and you hear each word: 

why. oh why. why won’t you let me **_win_**?

You scrunch your eyes shut.

Squeeze the Pokeball.

‘Dawn?’

Breath escapes your parted lips. You lower the Pokeball, and brace yourself for the worst. In your eyes, Cynthia is too kind, too innocent, to comprehend what you have just committed. She must surely think less of you now. 

Perhaps that’s it. Everything that’s happened _will_ be fantasy.

It’s all gone. Ruined.

You look at her, and that’s a mistake. Your heart is pulled, and your throat narrows. 

‘What happened to Grey?’ Your voice betrays you; it croaks, tears welling up in your eyes.

‘In custody. No longer our concern. Actually, she wasn’t our concern the first time she was placed in the officers’ hands.’

You wipe your face with your hand. ‘I thought––’ But that’s just it: you didn’t. You _hadn’t_ thought. You didn’t think. You didn’t _think_. ‘She was going to tell me where her labs were, but there weren’t any. She only wanted Cyrus to manipulate him, and then I––’ _took his life_. Killed him. You killed him, and that’s that. 

‘Well, it’s all over now.’

You nod. 

And then burst into tears. 

You can’t see her face, how she’s looking at you, because you’re trying so hard to wipe away the tears, but they just keep coming. One after the next, dripping off your chin, trailing down your cheeks, and soon you’re stained. You cry, and you cry loudly, and your whole body reacts violently. It’s almost frightening how you respond; how _everything_ has made you respond up to this point. Now everything tumbles, crashing.

She lets you cry, but she won’t let you cry alone.

Her fingers dig into your jacket and she’s going to hold you until you’re okay; you know that. But you don’t know if her holding you only makes it worse. You can’t stop crying. _You can’t stop crying and it hurts_. Just _everything_ fucking _hurts_. 

‘Am I a bad person?’ You splutter, roughly wiping your eyes.

She takes your hands, and you’re forced to look at her. Your heart could break; the slightest word could shatter you, but she is a gentle spirit. She cradles you as if you were a jewel, a diamond, a pearl; she cradles you like you need to be cradled.

It may not be the last time you see water gathering in those grey orbs. But it’s a startling, pretty picture and you can’t look away.

‘You’re not _bad_. You can’t ever be bad. You saved my life. That does not make you evil.’ She kisses the corner of your mouth, and your breath catches. ‘You made a mistake. I would have made the same mistake too.’ She kisses your cheek. Your tears. Petals fluttering your skin. ‘Your heart is too big; it’s too full of kindness and joy to cling onto anything bad.’

And she’s not going anywhere.

Satan’s jaws could sink into your body, and, yet, still, you would be okay. Only knowing she was still holding your hand. 

You have stopped crying.

Your body trembles, and you breathe erratically. 

But you have stopped crying.

‘It’s all over now.’ 

You repeat those four words in your mind. Inhale. 

It’s over.

Stopped.

‘Kiss me,’ and she does.

 

 

Afterwards, it’s as if the world wishes to clear away previous events and forget. You are not charged of murder; you acted out of self defence, and have multiple witnesses. In fact, no one really touches on Cyrus’s death––it’s accepted. Nothing more. There’s no sadness or joy; there’s nothing. He might as well have been dead all along.

The police station is a wreck; brick scattered, dust still coating the skies. Entei has been taken away, as well as Cyrus’s Houndoom. Grey is to be locked away for good. It’s all finished, and yet, to you, this is only the start. You feel out of place; you feel like your body has deserted its soul. Roaming the atmosphere, aimless and wandering.

Professor Oak wishes to meet with you at Sangdem. You’re out of energy to argue.

So you let him speak.

 

 

‘I was tempted. I wanted what she wanted, but I always knew I couldn’t follow through with it. She was corrupt. She was asking for too much. And, really, all I care about is my research. My Pokemon. How can I be a Professor of Pokemon if I spend my time researching on the things she was creating? They weren’t Pokemon, as much as they seemed like they were. No… No, I really couldn’t follow through with it. It was incorrect. I should have stopped her when I could have, but I was helpless. I’m sorry you had to deal with her instead. I’m sorry for all of this.’

 

 

A Hoothoot is calling into the night. 

Its voice echoes, and it’s haunting, beautiful, and so very alone.

The moonlight catches the blinds and its ray keeps you awake. You stare up at the ceiling, and the seconds pass. The minutes. The hours. You can still see him, his smirk, his rotting eyes. You can still see him standing at the Lake, you both wound up together by fate, having no idea that you would both come to destroy each other.

You think through it all. All of those years as a young trainer, the end of Galactic, and then running away.

You think about your supposed freedom. Think about Red. His reluctant smile.

And you feel your heart. 

Beating. 

Beating. 

_Beating_.

The night which holds you to sleep. 

A guardian of your own. Watching, but not always intervening. A distant, passing observer. The rare sunlight which peeks through the clouds. A rain of glee; perfection in the most fragile form. You think about what makes you smile, what counts; you think about how your heart beats, how you continue to breathe, how the clocks still tick.

How the world is as it is.

Still.

You turn on the bedside lamp.

‘Cynthia…?’

Squinting, and rubbing her eye with her hand, she murmurs a ‘mmyeah?’

‘I love you.’

She pauses. Moves her hand out of the way. Looks at you through squinted, tired, light eyes. Dazed and half-asleep, you’re mesmerised, and nothing has appeared more enchanting.

And then she smiles. 

Happy. Knowing.

And her eyes smile with her lips, and then the world smiles back.

‘C’mere.’

You slide over to where she lies, and snuggle into her. 

Warm, soft, safe.

Quiet.

‘I love you, too, Dawn. I always have.’

 


	8. 08

She takes you home.

The one place she feels safest; where she was born and raised. Celestic is quiet. Peaceful and alienated from the world. Although you’ve never had the opportunity to stay here, you’ve always felt attached to the small village. It suits your desire for isolation; it suits a _trainer_. A trainer, the best kind of trainer, is always alone.

Naturally, they seek lonely villages, lonely Pokemon––lonely _people_.

Cynthia doesn’t talk about Cyrus, but you know she knows. She knows his death has bothered you, to put it lightly. You aren’t a murderer. You aren’t a killer and, yet, somehow, without trying, you have become one. 

Somewhere along the way, you have transformed into a bad person.

Does that make you great? Does that only confirm the amount of power and brilliance you possess? Is that a fact that you ought to celebrate? 

You turn to Cynthia, half a mind to ask her, but quickly change your mind.

Telling her you loved her, the entire scene––it plays in your head over and over again. You picture her expression, how she smiled at you when your confession was finally out in the open. Cynthia is never one to judge, but you weren’t sure if you were expecting her to admit the feelings were mutual. That she, too, loved you back.

That, in itself, must surely prove that you _aren’t_ a bad person.

Cynthia only has a heart for the good. The kind. It would go against the very fibre of her being to like a hateful person. She is a selfless, wonderful and sweet woman. And when she confessed her love for you, she did not hesitate. As has always been the case. From helping you train your Pokemon, to accepting you as the new Sinnoh Champion, to you kissing her for the first time, and now admitting her love, Cynthia has not _once_ hesitated.

So, it comes down to that: the hesitation. The absence of it.

Because Cynthia doesn’t have to think about whether she loves you, or whether she _ought_ to love you. She simply does.

Realising this fact makes you kiss her. Cynthia is taken pleasantly by surprise, but you feel her smile against your lips, and you kiss her harder. You could kiss her for hours if you could. Just lock her and yourself away, where nobody can disturb you, and just kiss her. Just _show_ her how wonderful, _how perfect_ , she has been to you all of these years.

When you both arrive in Celestic, Cynthia takes your hand, and you recognise where you’re headed.

The elder of Celestic owns the largest and the most ancient building in the village. It is easily noticeable. ‘My grandmother has requested your visit,’ Cynthia says lightly. She sounds dreamy; relaxed. ‘She has something she wishes to show you.’

Initially, you’re flattered and a little excited, but heat rises to your cheeks immediately when you consider your current situation. With the elder’s granddaughter. ‘Uh, Cynthia?’

Of course Cynthia is aware. She smiles. ‘Trust me, she won’t bat an eye. My grandmother is too fascinated in her studies to notice much else.’ Before you can respond, Cynthia reaches the door and knocks. ‘Just be yourself. And don’t worry,’ she laughs slightly, and places a hand on your shoulder. ‘I’m here.’

You smile. ‘I know.’

The door opens. Cynthia’s grandmother looks exactly as you remembered, and she exclaims in joy at the sight of her granddaughter. ‘Oh, you should have told me you’d be coming!’ The two lock in a brief embrace. ‘I would have prepared you some food.’

‘Don’t be silly. Anyway, I brought you a treat.’ Cynthia presses a hand to your back, and you become the centre of attention.

The elder of Celestic smiles at you. ‘Ah, yes. Our curious prodigy. Come on in. I have something you might like.’

You enter first. Stacks and stacks of books are scattered virtually everywhere around the house. A fire has been made in the living area, and an elderly man is seated in one of the chairs. He waves over, but doesn’t communicate vocally. You watch as Cynthia comes over to him, and kisses his cheek, ‘Hello, grandpa.’

The elder distracts you. ‘Here,’ she says. 

An old, tattered folder is shoved into your hands.

‘A fine, young gentleman gave me this. You might have met him: he goes by the name of Red.’ You look at her. She grins. ‘I thought so.’

Opening the folder, you approach the table. Inside are a few black-and-white photographs, as well as several reports and dairy entries written by scientists. Cynthia has come over to join you, and leans over your shoulder at what you’re studying. You feel her presence and glance up at her briefly, then back to the photographs.

They depict a Pokemon, one infamous for its magnificent powers and impossibility to capture.

A clone.

‘Mewtwo,’ you murmur. 

‘The clone of Mew, from the Kanto region.’ Cynthia’s grandmother joins your side. ‘Have you ever seen this Pokemon?’

‘No,’ you confirm. You pick up one of the reports.

It is a brief report, one discussing the awesome powers of Mewtwo, that it was their plan to design an indestructible and immortal Pokemon…

… and they succeeded.

A chill travels up your spine. 

‘I hope you’re not tempting Dawn to get herself into any trouble,’ Cynthia squeezes your arm.

‘Oh, of course not! However, I’m sure she’s tempted. Are you?’

You think about Giratina. 

In a way, Mewtwo is inferior to such an amazing creature.

In a way, Mewtwo is superior.

Cynthia takes the report from your hands, and closes the folder. ‘My friend has been through plenty. Although, we shall hang onto these.’

‘We?’ Her grandmother remarks. ‘You’re too obsessed with your myths to care about the legends.’

‘Aren’t they technically the same?’ You ask. Cynthia smiles, but her grandmother responds.

‘That depends on who you ask. If I say so myself, legends have more credibility behind them. Myths can be equally as credible too, but they’re usually fictional beliefs. At least, in my experience of studying our Pokemon world, that has been the case.’

‘Except for the fact the myths I’m researching _are_ credible,’ Cynthia interjects, ‘I’ve seen the legendaries who _create_ such myths. Dawn, you’re partially correct, but, occasionally, there is a fine line between the two of them.’

‘Well. I can’t argue with a historian, can I?’ The elder glances at you. ‘Dawn, I hope you’re staying this evening. It would be nice to feed you; we’ve spoken so many a-time, I’ve never had the opportunity to treat you.’

‘That’s very kind, but I––’

‘It’s all right,’ Cynthia says. ‘I’ll stay too.’

You exhale, and smile. Already, you feel at home.

‘Lovely. You two can settle in then.’

 

 

The view from your guest bedroom is generous. From where you’re standing, you can see Mount Coronet. A mountain which changed your life forever; the first time when you _really_ became a trainer, and a decent one at that. When you defeated not only Cyrus, but the Devil itself. Staring up at the great landscape, you still find yourself haunted.

Yet, the moment Cynthia comes up behind you, and wraps her arms around your waist, it all seems to fade away.

Leaning into her, your hold her hands at your stomach. 

‘Who was the man by the fire?’

‘My grandfather. He’s mute. He knows a fair amount of sign language, but when faced with guests, he… tries to avoid it.’

‘Why?’

‘Pride. Timidness. He likes people to think he has a voice.’

You frown. ‘What happened?’

Cynthia tightens her embrace. She’s quiet for a moment. ‘Nothing really.’ It’s a whisper; vacant. You want to turn around and look at her properly, but she’s holding you so firmly and, yet, so lovingly, you can’t make yourself. 

‘There are things I want to ask you. A lot of things.’

‘Oh?’

‘About you. Where you came from.’

‘I’m not particularly interesting, Dawn. I started off just like you.’

You don’t argue. You respect Cynthia’s reluctance to reveal her private life. After all, she would do the same for you as well.

Still…

‘Cynthia?’ 

Her embrace loosens a little, and you take this opportunity to look at her. As always, her expression is happy. She smiles at you, and her smile is just _innocent_. Nothing has appeared more innocent to you now than Cynthia’s smile. And it makes you love her all the more. She’s too grateful for her own good. 

‘I can ask you anything, can’t I?’

The smile doesn’t disappear, but a shadow of reluctance passes her eyes. Regardless, Cynthia nods. ‘I’ve never lied to you, Dawn. It is true: I began my training as an orphan, but so did many. But I did start just the way you did: a young teenager, with barely any knowledge at all about the Pokemon world. I learnt as I progressed.’

The orphan Rowan spoke about was spoken about _highly_. Perhaps there is more than Cynthia is letting on. ‘Was Cyrus ever a friend to you?’

Cynthia looks puzzled. ‘I don’t understand what your concern is. Cyrus and I were more _acquaintances_ than friends. He is… he _was_ always quite a difficult man to get along with. And he was jealous. I’ve told you about him before.’

‘I just need to know.’ 

You need to know what you have done. The repercussions. Whether you made a mistake, or did the right thing.

‘He demanded why you wouldn’t let him win. Before I…’ _Before I ended his life_.

Cynthia’s expressions softens. ‘There is little point in worrying about the past.’

‘I know. I…’ You cock a brow. ‘Says the historian.’

‘There’s the past, and then there’s _history_ , dear. Cyrus isn’t history. He’s just _past_. To me, he will always be that way.’ She sighs, and her hands fall to your shoulders. ‘Dawn, if I was worried about you, or what you had done, I would tell you. Many criminals and violent trainers lose their lives. Even innocent ones. Furthermore, you acted out in defence, and so there are no charges.’

‘How did you know I was in trouble?’

‘I didn’t necessarily. I was returning to the Elite Four building, when I heard the explosion. You’ll be surprised: a Pokemon’s powers create an impact. The entire city was in devastation after Cyrus’s influence.’ She pauses, lowers her gaze. ‘But I also know you. You’re stubborn, and you would have gone to find him.’

You brings your arms around the back of her neck, and pull her into a soft embrace. Cynthia returns the affection at once.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Mhmm.’ Closing your eyes, you bury your face into the crook of her neck, and try to simply _erase_ everything Cyrus has done. Including his death. Cynthia is right: you aren’t to blame––not really, and it was coming to him. And, surely, what’s important is that Cynthia has _stayed_ by your side. She hasn’t rejected you. She has _stayed_.

That is something you’ll never take for granted. _Ever_.

Her palm tenderly caresses your back, and she patiently waits for you to recover.

‘I really liked you when I was younger.’ You pull away slightly. 

Cynthia smirks. ‘I could _kind of_ tell.’

A blush makes its way to your cheeks, and you cringe. ‘Oh.’

‘It’s okay.’ She kisses––of all places––your nose. ‘It was endearing. Flattering, even. Nothing to be embarrassed about.’

‘Did you like me too?’

She giggles, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘Back then? I thought you were charming, and _very_ cute. I suppose I never thought about you in _that_ way until…’ She inhales, and looks at you. Her eyes are so pale in this light. Beautiful. ‘… Until you went away. You left very soon after you fought me over the title of Champion. I always wondered why.’

You blink, amazed she even _thought_ about your absence. ‘I needed to discover more.’ And: ‘I had my reasons. I’m sorry I concerned you.’

‘No matter. The past is past. I only wondered. I did miss you, though. You were––and still are––a passionate woman. Your absence was noticeable.’

‘I had no idea.’

‘You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Do you honestly believe I would have spent so much time with you, if I thought you were any less than what you are? Dawn, you had a gift from day one, and you were inspiring. You made an impact on me.’

This causes you to blush harder. Heart racing, you try to calm yourself down by looking away from her eyes. That does little to help, however. 

She’s laughing softly. ‘My darling. You made an impact on everybody you met. Honestly, Flint wouldn’t stop babbling about you for days. I actually felt a little jealous.’ You look at her then, a smile reaching your lips. ‘What?’

‘You? Jealous?’

She shrugs. ‘So, I had a crush too. Whatever.’

The woman is teasing you, you can tell, and you’re grinning now. Sniggering at her. Before Cynthia can come to her defence again, you silence her with kisses.

 

 

Dinner with the family is calm, and there isn’t any demand for conversation. Most of the time, you sit and listen to the conversations Cynthia and her grandmother share. The majority of their talks concern the Lake legendaries, and when her grandmother discusses how _wonderful_ it would be to actually meet them, you smile to yourself.

Cynthia nudges your leg with hers, and you smile wider.

‘Have you told Dawn about what you’ve discovered in our ruins?’

You raise your brows. Cynthia smiles sheepishly, ‘Uh, no. We’ve had quite a lot happening since Dawn returned from her travels.’

‘Be sure to tell her.’ Cynthia’s grandmother looks at you. ‘I don’t blame you if you find Cynthia’s obsessive babbles tedious, but what she’s found out is quite interesting.’

‘Thanks for that backhanded compliment.’

‘Of course.’ 

Cynthia looks over at you. ‘I can show you later, if you like. Do you remember my previous theory that the orbs on the wall are of the three Lake spirits?’ You nod. ‘Well, I’ve considered the possibility that they could mean _more_ than simply those three legendaries. It is all very exciting! And could lead us onto what, or who, created the universe. Is there truly a higher being, a Pokemon, which designed our world? The two of us met the being from the underworld. Who is to say there isn’t one which guards the heavens?’

You’re smiling. Cynthia getting lost in her own thoughts isn’t something new to you. In fact, it’s one of the reasons you were so drawn to her. Sometimes, Cynthia is so sucked up in her own world, she doesn’t even notice who’s arrived or left.

‘But, then, maybe it is beyond our capabilities to come _close_ to an understanding of this higher being. We’re too finite. Too mortal to know anything at all.’

‘Isn’t design, in itself, evidence?’ You suggest. ‘How we have evolved, how lands are shaped, the way we live, how beautiful our world is––is it all deliberate, or mere accident?’

‘Maybe both,’ Cynthia’s eyes are fond. ‘Perhaps something _caused_ such design, and has allowed things to go ahead independently. The domino effect.’

‘Maybe that is planned too.’ You can’t tell what Cynthia’s grandmother is thinking, but she’s smiling. Happy. ‘Every happening happens for a reason.’ She glances at Cynthia, then at you. ‘I have no doubt that my granddaughter found _you_ for a reason, Dawn. Otherwise you wouldn’t have become such a powerful trainer.’

Cynthia chuckles nervously. ‘I am being awarded too much credit. Dawn did it all on her own.’

You’re watching her while she speaks, and you think you wouldn’t want anybody else. You really wouldn’t. Cynthia is belittling her influence. You agree with her grandmother. Without Cynthia, you would not have achieved so much greatness. Nor would you have healed from your adventures. You owe her _everything_.

She’s perfect.

Completely.

You look over towards Cynthia’s grandfather, and you’re surprised to find he has been observing you, or even _studying_. He smiles kindly, and you smile back.

Maybe it is so.

Maybe Cynthia finding you was for a reason. For many wonderful reasons.

For bringing you home.

 

 

‘I asked her, one day, how her studies were progressing. For a whole year, all she could talk about was your successes.’

You look up from the photographs of Mewtwo’s birth, surprised. Cynthia has disappeared upstairs, and you weren’t expecting her grandmother to pay much attention to you after dinner. Yet, here she is, sitting beside you. She reaches over and slides over one of the scientist’s diary entries, reading it briefly.

‘I think you helped her believe in better. My granddaughter has always been an optimist, despite losing her parents at such a young age. Yet, she overcame that, and grew to love the very creature which destroyed her family. But you… you inspired something deeper. You were what made her go out and _study_ the thing she loved so dearly.’

Forgetting about the photographs, you listen in silence.

‘Unfortunately, Cynthia’s sister wasn’t so forgiving. She always struggled to _like_ Pokemon, and, frankly, I did too. They killed my daughter and son-in-law, and so many other innocent lives. But, perhaps that is nature. Perhaps it was always meant to be. After all, if her parents weren’t killed by Pokemon, I don’t think Cynthia would have become a Pokemon Master. She needed a reason to forgive them, so she sought that reason.’

You’re smiling vacantly.

‘So she sought you.’

You drop your gaze to the table.

‘And I’m relieved.’

 

 

Later, you find Cynthia at Celestic Ruins. She has been studying the inscriptions and drawings on the wall. When you come over, she acknowledges your presence by bringing an arm around your shoulders, but she’s quiet. You lean into her side, think about her grandmother’s words, and hold onto her.

The three orbs on the wall catch your attention.

‘I thought they could also represent the other legendaries. For example, Entei, Raikou and Suicune, and trios like them. However, just now, I think it also represents mankind as well. Perhaps the mind––’ she points to the top orb, ‘––the body––’ to the left orb, ‘––and even the heart––‘ she ends at the right orb. They glow, almost sparkle. ‘Or, earth, water and fire. Heaven, purgatory and Hell. All the ungraspable elements.’

Cynthia, you and Cyrus.

The three movements of the earth; the three elements.

Earth. Water. And Fire.

Heaven. Purgatory. Hell.

Love. Ambivalence. Hate.

Mespirit. Uxie. Azelf.

You kiss her. ‘Come back with me.’

She pries her eyes from the orbs, looks at you, smiles. Cynthia finds your hand and squeezes. 

Without hesitance. 

‘Anywhere with you.’

 

 

 

 

 

END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story means a lot to me. It has been an absolute pleasure to write about these two. Dawn, Cynthia and Cyrus really made the Sinnoh region, and Pokemon as a whole, for me, and I’m really glad I was able to write about them. 
> 
> Thank you to everybody who has supported me with this piece of work. I hope you enjoyed the final chapter!
> 
> I might write a sequel, and turn the focus onto Cynthia instead (and her very Mulder-like speeches) but, for now, I’ll leave it as is.
> 
> Until next time!


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